


Situational Machismo

by candlejill



Series: Consanguinity [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: +55k words, 2000s, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst, Body Swap, Case Fic, Dubious Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Flagstaff, Humor, Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Abusive John Winchester, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Pining, Pre-Stanford, Sam's Bitchface, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Teenchesters, UST, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, Witches, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlejill/pseuds/candlejill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a hunt, Sam and John are hit with a mysterious spell causing them to switch bodies. Sam is devastated at the repercussions that could affect his future. The Winchesters are left with the monumental task of figuring out how to change back. Dean, previously believed to be unaffected, begins to have new troubling thoughts towards his brother causing him to think that maybe he did not escape the spell untouched after all.</p><p>Note: There is no sexual relationship between Sam and Dean while Sam is in John's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Machismo
> 
> noun  
> 1\. A strong or exaggerated sense of manliness; an assumptive attitude that virility, courage, strength, and entitlement to dominate are attributes or concomitants of masculinity.

"Fuck!" Dean grabbed his head, knees slamming hard to the ground. He pulled himself into a ball, fighting to shield his eyes. The light blinding him dissipated as quickly as it burst through, plunging the night back into darkness. The high pitched screeching around him finally subsided into a low buzz and it was about goddamn time too.

Dean rubbed his eyes, desperately trying to ease the burn from the unsettled dirt that caused them to water uselessly. Voice faltering, cracking, and nearly unrecognizable. "What the fuck was that?" He uttered mostly to himself. Ringing beating hard in his ears, his words sounded obscured even to himself.

"Everyone alright?" An indistinct voice called across this godforsaken field. Sam. Dean blinked, clearing his eyes. Sam was calling.

Dean rubbed the sides of his head, soothing the pulsating vibration in his ears. A weak attempt to calm the throbbing ache, he’d need about a half a bottle of ibuprofen to even make a dent in the pounding. Maybe graduate up to Vicodin if Dad would let him near the emergency narcotics. He shook his head and hoped the damage to his hearing wouldn’t be permanent. He’d be a pretty fucking useless hunter if he couldn’t hear anything approach.

Expending all energy, he drug his useless body from the ground up onto his knees. Dean wavered as the earth rolled in tides, cresting and buckling underneath him. His stomach lurched, mumbling in protest at the lack of stability. Wait, no. Fuck. It wasn’t the ground, it was his own center of gravity betraying him. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled the earthy smell around him, lungs expanding and contracting taking dust along with it. Finally, coughing, he opened his watering eyes, dirt now clung to his tear stained face. Slowly he focused.

Kicked up dirt was still in the air around him but settling slowly. He saw Sam and John some distance across the field. The relief of their safety was a welcomed comfort. They were okay, best he could tell. Both alright enough to stand at least. Dean squinted looking closer. John's shoulders and chest lifted and fell recklessly. Unevenly. Dean tensed, unnerved. If he hadn’t known the man standing there he’d say it was panic. His Dad. John Winchester. John Winchester doesn’t panic.

Blood coursed through him, suddenly racing to his heart. Dean quickly lifted his distressed leg. He groaned attempting to support himself and propel forward standing on coltish legs. Ignoring the ache in his muscles and the pain in his head, he staggered his way to John.

"Dad, what's wrong. Are you ok? Hey! _Look_ at me!" John refused to drop the glossy eyed stare from his brother. Dean’s stomach lurched, if Sam was fucking hurt he’d-. He quickly turned and called to him from farther across the field, "Sammy? You ok?"

Sam shuffled toward them slowly, holding onto his side.

A rough, shaky voice trembled behind him. "Yeah, Dean," John answered.

Dean whipped his head to his Dad whose wide eyes focused intently in front of him. John shook his head slowly, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Dean watched John bring his hands up to inspect, one side and the other, then look back to Sam.

"Well, shit," Sam said. Dean turned back to see his brother approach. Scratching his head his brother continued, "Sam, get over here. You okay?" Dean traced Sam's eyes back to his father who stood behind him cautiously.

"Sam? What is-" Dean stopped. He turned back to study Sam's eyes closely. Then looked to John, his Dad intently focused on his brother. John looked scared. "Fuck- _Sammy?_ Is that you?"

"Language, Dean."

Dean pulled an already sore muscle snapping his head back to his brother... no... this was his father. His brother’s body. "She _switched_ your bodies?" Dean exclaimed incredulously, blinking back his disbelieving watering eyes.

"Yeah,” John sighed, “Looks like." Sam's body, his father, weighed his hands on his alien and now very slender hips. Sam’s hips? Someone’s goddamned hips.

"Dad?"

Dean had never heard his father's voice quaver so feeble and unsure. His panic-stricken eyes were wide and distressed. Jesus, he looked petrified. He looked _young_. Dean approached tentatively, like he was approaching a goddamn fawn instead of an experienced hunter, "Christ, Sam. Is that _really_ you?"

Sam, in his father's body, nodded looking through Dean, eyes still focused intently on his body. Sam’s body. The body which his father currently occupied. Dean shook his head, couldn’t believe little sixteen year-old Sammy was in their father's body.

"Dad?" The gruff voice emitted again, "Dad? Is this- what are we-" He choked back shaking his head. "This isn't _permanent_ is it?" Voice wavering, near hysteria. Dean could hear the tense confusion setting in. It made his stomach churn hearing their Dad's voice so unnerved.

John sighed, and using Sam’s hand, scratched his head. "I don't know, Sam," he shrugged.

"What?!" Dean was shoved capriciously to the side as his father's body barged through, "What do you mean you don’t know? We can't stay like this! We- we have to- Dad!" Sam clutched recklessly at his own body he was standing in front of, "Dad! I can't be like this! I have _school!_ I have to finish the school year! I-I-” He cried urgently, “I want my body back!"

"Sam! Sam, just calm down," John replied holding Sam out firmly in front of him, anchoring him to the moment providing what little support he could. Dean watched a bit in shock as his father stared resolutely at his own body breathing rapidly in front of him. "Sam. You need to calm down. Get it together. We'll figure this out." John gave him a reassuring pat on the arm before he walked past looking at the ground around them. Searching for any clues, markings, books or totems. Anything that could lead them to the exact spell that caused this.

"We'll figure something out?" Sam laughed morosely, "We'll _figure something out?_ "

"Yes, Sam.” Irritated, John turned, “If she found a way to do this then we can find a way to switch back. I’m sure this isn’t the first time a hunter was forced from his body. Be thankful you weren’t turned into a rat. Now, _the hunt_ isn't over. Get over here and start digging a grave. Both of you. We need to salt and burn. I don’t want this one to come back and bite us in the ass.” John sighed, “Where's her body?"

"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed rubbing his hand over his mouth in disbelief. Looking back and forth from his brother to his father who both turned, suddenly remembering he was there.

John looked him over carefully, really studying Dean for the first time since the blinding light. "Dean? You're still _Dean,_ right?" He asked.

Dean laughed incredulously, "Yeah, Dad."

John nodded, looking relieved in Sam's body. "Good. That's good. Okay. _Now,_ unless either one of you are bleeding out, you boys need to get your shit together and start digging." John glared at them, “Now. That’s and order.” He turned back to the ground, searching, “You can have your meltdown when we hit the road.”

Dean pointed behind Sam. He coughed, "Uh, her body. It's behind... Sam..." He shook his head and repeated more confidently, "It's behind Sam." Dean's eyes followed John as he commanded his brother's body confidently over to the witch's corpse. He forced himself to look away, reaching down for the shovel near by. It was dark but there was light enough from the moon to dig a grave.

They had been living in Casper, Wyoming when they first heard about the hunt. John had been passing through a nearby town and learned animals were turning up dead. Pets suspiciously missing, their bodies always later discovered propped in an odd presentation, organs missing. Ritualistic, but never too brutally mutilated. At least, as unmutilated animal corpses with missing organs could be. Which was a good indication as any that this was done by a human. ‘Human’ used generously if you call gutting Lassie an act of humanity. Rumor had it a Satanic cult of local teens was terrorizing the small community. It didn’t take much for Sam and Dean to infiltrated their clique and find out the rumor was wrong, of course. The local goths, nerds _not_ Satanists, congregated but they quickly discovered it was only to smoke weed and play D  & D. The only spell _they_ were casting was Magic Missile. It wasn’t a complete bust, Dean at least scored some pot out of the deal.

The witch actually responsible had been a petite woman with greying hair. She looked to be in her late 50s and appeared to be like every other 50-something. Somebody’s grandma. She had seemed nice enough during their recon. But, then again, they always do.

John discovered she had been using animal organs to call upon a dark goddess. The witch was getting blessings and bounty from her. But the goddess bitch quickly got tired of McDonald’s grade animal burgers and decided she wanted to sample some steak. No longer appeased, she demanded human blood and the witch obliged. And she was smart. Damn smart. They learned she caused _accidents_ which resulted in death of her intended targets, no one in town the wiser. Not until John heard those bodies were _also_ missing organs.

It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out ganking, but the old hag had other plans. She fled through the field behind her house which resulted in this shit show down. And, apparently, she was packing an ace up her sleeve.

Dean watched John, now out of earshot, stand over her corpse, lifting her limbs with his foot before squatting down to inspect closer.

Dean couldn't pull himself away from watching while he worked, straining his muscles, digging. It was his brother’s body but it _wasn't_ Sam. Dean had never seen ‘Sam’ so self-assured. He knew everything about the kid. He’d seen him in every mood and through every temper tantrum imaginable. Sam was an extension of Dean that he could predict a thousand ways to Sunday, but he’d never seen him like this. And he knew the sweat he felt trickle down his back wasn’t entirely from the exertion of digging. Unnerving, yes. And it was doing something to his stomach, fluttering nervously under his shirt.

Jesus, Sammy looked _good_ with this alpha male bullshit posturing. Too bad the kid wasn’t always so confident. Dean laughed to himself disparagingly. Fuck all if watching Sam like this wasn’t kind of turning him on, which Dean recognized was about every kind of screwed up you could be. He supposed a normal person would probably feel more unsettled but Dean just attributed his curiosity to the change in their current… _situation._ Unconsciously, he stopped shoveling to stare more appreciatively, studying out of habit if nothing else.

Sam quickly smacked Dean's chest with the back of his hand, "Dean. _Don't_ you fucking dare."

"Ow," Dean rubbed his chest. “Jealous, Sammy?” He laughed, lifting his eyebrows questioning. He looked to his brother who was staring daggers at him through their father's eyes. It suddenly really hit Dean. He wasn’t checking _Sam_ out, which was disturbing in it’s own right. No, he was checking their father out. Dean inhaled deeply as the full magnitude of the situation sunk in. "Shit," he breathed out quietly. He dropped the shovel and put his hands on his knees bracing himself, "Shit."

Dean stole another glance at his father, moving Sam's body in the cock-sure manner he was very much _not_ accustomed to seeing. " _Shit!_ " he swore again.

"Yeah," Sam spoke sullenly.

"Fuck, Sammy."

"Don't call me ‘Sammy’,” he griped. “I mean it, Dean. Right now I look like a burly lumberjack and I am _not_ in the mood,” he narrowed his eyes at Dean, “So _don't_ fucking call me 'Sammy.'" Gritting his teeth, he jabbed his finger into Dean’s chest.

Dean rubbed his chest, "Sam, what the fuck are we gonna to do?" He reached down, shaking slightly as he picked up the shovel and resumed digging, his brother joining him.

Sam shook his head, dark hair shaking softly, "You're _not_ cruising my body when _I'm_ not in it. That's number one, Dean." He said strongly using the Marine tone for emphasis.

Dean defended softly, “I _wasn't_ checking you out, dude. I was just-” He rubbed his eyes before looking back towards their father again. “Appreciating the man you’re growing into?” Sam scowled in return. Dean shook his head, "Fuck, Sam."

"Yeah. So you've said."

Dean inhaled trying to shake off his unease. Suddenly, a bitter laugh escaped him, "But - I mean, now that you can see for yourself, you have to admit you've got a decent body. All those drills Dad makes you run are paying off, right?" He lifted his eyebrows suggestively and smiled bright, “You can finally really see what you’re working with. You and me hit the town together? Think of the ladies we could get. Now alls you need is to grow some balls, huh?”

Sam scoffed and shook his head.

Turning back to Sam, Dean's eyes went wide. He shook his head in disbelief thinking just exactly how this looked from the outside. He threw his hands in the air, "Jesus. This fucking night, man. I just told Dad's _body_ , the one that my baby brother happens to be possessing, that his youngest son has a hot body. This is so beyond fucked up. Sam, I don't know how I'm gonna to do this."

"You don't know how _you're_ going to do this?" Sam stopped digging, " _I'm_ the one in Dad's body, Dean! His. Body. Excuse me if you find my sympathy for you to be a bit lacking." Sam shook his head, "Just. Figure it out." He slapped Dean's chest hard, "And keep it in your pants. As thick as he can be about what’s going on in our lives - you start hitting on him? Even _he's_ bound to figure a few things out. Things, I for one, hope he never, ever, finds out.” Sam shivered, “Ever."

“I _wasn’t_ checking you out, dude,” Dean protested. He rubbed his chest, glaring back at Sam, "You just have no idea how weird this is."

Sam scoffed, "I'm looking at my body 200 feet away from me. I _think_ I have an idea of how weird it is, Dean." Sam brought his hands up to his hair which was currently much shorter than he was used to. Remembering it wasn't his own only irritated him further. He dropped his hands quickly, breathing rapidly. "Dean," he pleaded, "I am a fraction of a second away from going mental! What if I can't get back? What if I'm stuck like this forever? I still have the school year to finish!"

“Yeah, you can probably kiss the junior prom goodbye,” Dean smirked. Sam seethed. Dean dropped the shovel and turned, holding Sam's shoulders firmly in place. "Sam, look at me." Sam pulled his eyes away from John and met Dean’s. "We're _going_ to find a way to switch you back," Dean assured. The man in front of him was _still_ Sam. Underneath his father's exterior Dean, could still see his brother looking back at him. In the way he was holding the body that wasn't his. The way he stood. The intense, pleading look that begged Dean to make everything better. "Sam, I promise you, we _will_ fix this." Sam exhaled slowly, nodding. "We _have_ to fix this,” Dean continued, “Because there is no way in _hell_ I'm gonna fuck around with you while you're wearing that thing."

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam stopped shoveling, “Don’t even joke about that, you ass! It’s not funny.”

Dean laughed quietly to himself, “It’s really not.” He shook his head and they both continued to dig. Flexing his muscles, he pushed the shovel blade into the dirt and unearthed as quickly as his sore muscles allowed. His body still ached from the blast that threw him, but his hearing had improved considerably. Still buzzing but manageable.

Since it was unnerving to look towards his father, Dean tried covertly to study his brother working next to him. Sam was using arms very familiar to Dean to lift dirt from the grave. It was something he and his father had done a hundred times before, but _this_ was so fucking weird. He didn’t hold the shovel the same way Dad did. The hair on Dean’s arm stood from the cool night breeze. Or maybe it was because of this whole damn situation. Whatever the cause, Dean was fighting the jittery feeling seeping through his blood. Sam’s familiar furrowed brow was eerily mirrored on John’s face. The way Sam stretched his back, and worked along side of him. It was wrong. Everything was wrong about how he was used to seeing that body move. Just studying that alone he would have known something wasn’t right. This man next to him wasn’t his father. Dean was taking a hike through Uncanny Valley and it was living up to all expectations. He swore under his breath, his own silent prayer they’d be able to return Sam to his body.

And he wasn't checking out Sam’s body. He _wasn’t_. It was just- over the years he and Sam had gotten… closer. The last year in particular. He noticed things about him he might not have paid attention to before. Sighing, he realized if they couldn’t switch their bodies back, it really was going to make Dean’s sex life more difficult. He wrinkled his brow in thought. If he wanted to get off he’d have to go to the bars more often and actually put effort into it. Which was just. Inconvenient.

Dean sighed, “Dude. We really need to get your body back. I hate picking up chicks at the bar. They always expect you to buy ‘em drinks and it’s this whole big production and after all that work you’re not even guaranteed a blow.”

Sam scoffed, “Yeah,” he muttered bitterly, “I was just thinking the same thing. ‘I _really_ need my body back so Dean can have an easier and _more fulfilling_ sex life.’ Seriously, dude? That’s what you’re worried about here?”

“More fulfilling? Come on, Sam. You know I have no trouble baggin’ the wildcats,” he winked and nudged Sam’s arm. Sam stared unamused. Dean dropped his smile and nodded. “But yeah, you’re right,” he conceded. “Probably is worse for you. Think of the kind of women you’ll get in _that_ geriatric thing.” He smirked, “Actually, come to think of it, your sex life will probably _improve_. Mature women know what they want, Sammy. I know it’s scary for you but you don’t have to be afraid,” he teased. “Tell ‘em to take it easy, that you were celibate the first forty-five years of your life so they’ll need to ease you into the whips and chains. Ya might even learn a thing or two out of all this.”

“I hate you,” Sam glared.

“Remember. Safewords are your friend, Sam.”

“What are we going to do if we can’t find anything, Dean? You think Dad’s gonna sit in on my Calc class? Keep up my notes? I’m starting my _senior_ year this fall and Dad is probably gonna take my body halfway across the country looking for fuck all. I think the school will have an issue with some old man lurking around the school taking notes.” Sam jabbed his shovel hard into the ground, “You know, Dad’s probably _glad_ this happened. Seventeen again? Now he has even more time to look for whatever the hell killed Mom.”

“Sixteen, dude.”

“For like two more weeks, you ass.”

“Whatever,” Dean scratched his face. “Not sure about this semester but, you’ll get your body back before fall, Sam.” Dean sighed, “And look, I mean, it’s not like you even _have_ to go back. You could-”

“So help me god, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “If you say _one_ word about a GED I will flay you with my shovel right here. This grave is big enough for two.”

Dean held his hands up in surrender. Sam stared him over.

Finally relaxing slightly, Sam groaned as he stretched to either side and threw his shovel to the ground. “I’m done. My back is killing me,” struggling, he climbed out of the grave they dug.

“Sure thing, old man,” Dean smiled and followed him. Sam pursed his lips in irritation. Dean sat next to him, both their legs hanging, knocking feet in the makeshift grave. It was shallow, not near six foot, but it would do for witch’s new permanent address.

Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder, “Dude, you’re gonna have to touch Dad’s dick when you take a piss.”

“Oh my god, Dean!” Sam punched his brother’s shoulder, “Seriously. This _isn’t_ funny.”

Dean laughed anyway, rubbing his shoulder, “So now if you jack yourself off is that, like, incest or... what do you think that’s called?”

“Ugh. Gross, Dean.”

“You’re a smart kid. You can probably come up with a whole new word entirely,” he snickered.

Despite his best effort Sam smiled, “Anything to avoid checking a mark in the incest box, right?” He nudged Dean’s shoulder playfully.

“Hey!” Dean protested awkwardly. “That’s different, dude.” Sam lifted an eyebrow incredulously, waiting for an explanation. “ _We’re_ not- It’s just-” frustrated, Dean turned away and scratched his head.

“We’re just- what, Dean? Pulling each other off? Exchanging friendly orgasms? But, you know it’s okay because they’re the _non-incestuous_ brotherly orgasms,” Sam laughed softly. He rolled his eyes when he saw the look of contempt on Dean’s face.“Yeah, yeah,” Sam waved his hand dismissively, “We’re _alone in the trenches._ That look on your face, Jesus. I don’t want you to be my girlfriend, dude. Relax. You’d think I asked you to prom.”

“That word just makes it sound so-” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just-” he considered, looking at the ground. His heart pounded violently in his chest. He could feel the heat rush as his face flushed, eternally grateful it was too dark for anyone to see.

It wasn’t that they didn’t acknowledge this fucked up thing between them. It was just usually in more inconspicuous, less vocal ways. A raise of an eyebrow to meet in the truck stop bathroom. A nod of the head to take a walk in the woods while their Dad was passed out on the couch. Sometimes it was just in the way Dean would plead his brother’s name. Sam would roll his eyes and threaten, “If you crash the car while you’re driving, dude, I’m not help you rebuild her.”

“It’s more like a _helping_ hand,” Dean finally offered, nodding in approval of his assessment.

“Does telling yourself that help you sleep better at night?” Sam teased.

“No,” Dean stared at him. “The _tugjobs_ are what help me sleep better at night.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, smiling wide.

Sam laughed, took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “Dude, why are we even talking about this?” He asked.

“ _I_ don’t fuckin’ know,” Dean shook his head. “You brought it up,” he shifted uncomfortably. “And, for the record, it all sounds about a _hundred_ times worse in Dad’s voice. That’s for damn sure.”

Sam scowled and leaned close next to Dean’s ear. Using his most intimidating and ferocious dad-voice he grumbled, “Dean Winchester, have you been touching your brother where his bathing suit goes?”

“Holy shit, dude,” Dean pushed Sam and stood up and away from his brother. He lifted his hands in defense and looked around, checking to make sure John wasn’t within hearing range. “That is not fucking funny.” He couldn’t bring himself to be too mad because at least now Sam was honest to god laughing. His stomach fluttered when he realized, Dean missed his dimples.

“Yeah. _That’s_ what I’ve been saying. About time you got on board,” Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean scowled and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go see if he’s figured anything out yet,” Dean rubbed his hands together, wiping the dirt from them the best he could.

John was standing over the body studying different items in his hand. A book maybe, or some paper. Dean wasn’t sure.

John looked up at the sound of their footsteps, “Is it done?”

“Yes, s-” Dean shook his head taken aback, “Yes, sir.” He looked to Sam who was smirking at him, holding back a laugh. Dean glared in response.

“Good,” John said. “Alright, I checked her over and got everything we need. I raided her house and got anything useful so the rest we can burn. You boys, bring her over to the grave.”

Sam walked to the legs as Dean grabbed her shoulders. Sam groaned as they hoisted her up, “Maybe you should be doing this, Dad? I’m not feeling as spry as I used to.”

John lifted his eyebrows. “I’m not _that_ out of shape, Sam,” he said dryly.

“Your back sucks,” Sam replied under his breath. Shuffling the body to the grave with Dean.

John scoffed, “Yeah, well, my _hearing’s_ better now anyway.”

Dean smirked at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. John picked up items on the ground and followed behind them.

“Ready?” Dean looked to Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam groaned.

“One- two-” on three they dropped the corpse into the hole.

“Salt?”

“The truck,” John kept his eyes focused on something in his hands. Sam scratched his eyebrow and started walking to the truck a few yards away.

“Don’t forget the lighter fluid this time, Sammy!” Dean called to him.

“Not ‘Sammy’!” He flipped him the bird behind his back walking away.

Dean snorted and walked over to their father. Watching his face, which was intently studying what looked to be a spell book, carefully he asked, “Do you think- Did you find anything useful?”

John grunted, not looking up, “Well. We have something to go on.” His voice not betraying any evidence of whether that was good or bad.

Dean released a breath anyway. He nodded, “Okay, well, that’s good, right?”

John ignored him as he leafed through a few sheets of paper in his hands. “Dean, about how far are we from Kadoka?”

“South Dakota? Uh,” Dean scratched his head and looked around, “I’d say, what? About Five? Five and a half hours? Longer if there’s construction.” John grunted acknowledging his response. “We going to Kadoka?”

John finally lifted his head from the papers, “I need to call a contact first but, it looks like.” Dean nodded. “Means we’re going to have to leave town tonight,” John finally met Dean’s eyes then gave a meaningful glare to Sam.

Dean sighed, understanding his Dad’s gesture. “Look, just-” he scratched his head, “If there was any time he’d be understanding about cutting town early, _this_ would be it.” John sneered, a look was familiar on his brother’s face but somehow it now made Dean’s skin itch and feel anxious.

“Dean!” Sam called walking back. Dean left his uneasy feeling, and John, and joined Sam at the makeshift grave. Sam threw him the accelerant.

“You got a lighter?” Dean asked.

They made quick work of torching the body. It was fresh which meant it was accompanied with the unforgettable smell. Dean loved working the hunt but, christ, the scent of a burning human corpse is something he could stand to forget.

When it was done, the three of them walked silently back to the cars. The Impala waiting next to the old truck their father now drove. John sighed, “Alright boys. We’re stopping in Chadron, Nebraska tonight. That gives us a few hours start to Kadoka. I need to call my contact anyway. We can’t just show up on her doorstep.”

Sam smirked, “Last time didn’t go so hot, huh? Imagine that.”

“Sam,” John glared at him. “I’m not in the mood for your attitude right now.” He sighed, “We have a three hour drive. It’s already past 1:00 AM and I’d like to make it there sometime tonight. I’m tired. I’m hungry. And I imagine you’d like to get back in your body about as much as I’d like to get mine. This whole ordeal will go a lot better if you stop your bitching and keep your smart ass remarks to yourself.” John held his glare at Sam, “Now, you think you can do that?”

Sam crossed his arms, pursed his lips, and looked away petulantly. He sighed then turned back. “Yes,” he conceded brooding.

“Yes? Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam stood up straight.

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “I’m gonna need to get that on tape before this is over. Gotta admit it’s pretty hilarious seein’ Dad say, ‘yes sir’ to you, Sam. Put that down on a list of things I never thought I’d see,” Dean smiled wide, eyes crinkling at the corners.

John turned towards Dean and pointed, “Same goes for you, Dean, you hear?”

Dean fought to drop his smile, “Yes, sir.”

John looked them both over before settling on Sam. He exhaled, “Sam, now, leaving tonight means you’re not going to finish the school year here and I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

John paused as Sam clenched his jaw and looked away, “I think for once you might even be with me on this one.”

Sam closed his eyes and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

John eyed him, still waiting for a protest. Sam not obliging, he continued, “Now, I’m gonna take the truck. Boys, take the Impala. Pack everything, then we’re gonna fuel up but that’s our _only_ stop until we get there. Grab something to eat. Get good and caffeinated because we won’t reach Chadron until after dawn.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke to a hard slap on his chest which he too slowly realized was Dean. He squinted looking out the window of the Impala. It was that kind of uneasy darkness of night right before dawn that he despised. The impending and ominous doom of light promising to soon break through. He’d seen the wrong side of a sunrise too many times. Nights felt so much more restful if he could  _just_  get to sleep before the glow of the dawn. As soon as they hit the road Sam had fallen asleep from exhaustion but, lucky for him, Dean ensured he wouldn’t miss his least favorite part of the day. 

He ached everywhere. His muscles were tense and sore like he’d be sent through a meat grinder. He felt pain in places he wasn’t aware he had. “Ugh, Dean!” The moment Sam groaned he remembered  _why_. He pulled down the mirror and saw John’s wide eyed reflection staring back.

“Sorry, kiddo. Wasn’t a dream,” Dean smiled hesitantly.

“Where are we?” His voice was gruff and foreign to his ears.

“‘Bout twenty minutes away from Chadron.”

Sam groan louder, sinking into the seat, and threw an arm over his eyes. “So, why didn’t you wake me twenty minutes from now?”

“I was getting lonely,” Dean said sarcastically. “Dude, you passed out the second we took off.”

“Mmm-,” Sam yawned, “Pulling a  _Freaky Friday_   wears a guy out.”

Dean laughed unexpectedly, “Dude. You did. You totally pulled a  _Freaky Friday_!” Sam turned to look at his brother and witnessed his eyes light up. “Ah, what the fuck was her name? Anna? Amanda?”  
  
“Gaby Hoffman,” Sam offered quietly.  
  
“Yeah, that’s it! You kind of had a thing for her, right? And Shelley Long was kind of a milf, huh?”

Sam turned away from his brother and shut his eyes. “Too old,” Sam said dryly.

Dean paused for a moment before teasing, “So that’d make her your peer now, huh?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. ”

“Well, hey, you know, everything turned out alright for them. Maybe you and Dad will walk away from this with a better understanding of your independent daily struggles?”

Sam groaned, “Shut up.” He rubbed his callused hands over his face, attention focused on the feeling of rough hair growing in. “Jesus, Dad has the worst stubble. How can he tolerate this? It itches!”

“Gonna have to get used to shaving more than once a month,” Dean laughed quietly.

“Uh, no. No blade created by man is sharp enough to get rid of this.” Sam shook his head, “Look’s like Dad’s growing a beard. Full out Grizzly Adams.”

Dean quietly laughed to himself. After a few moments he said, “Well, look, I don’t know how _you’re_ feelin’ after that three hour nap but some of us, who are _me_ , are gonna drop the second we get a room. Think you’ll keep sleeping or are you gonna try to research?”

Sam inhaled deeply, “I dunno, man. I should research but I feel like shit. Put me in a coma. Wake me when you figured it out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Dad’s gonna go for that. And I’m sure as shit not gonna cover your half of the research.”

Sam looked out the window. The sky was beginning to lighten up in the pinks and reds and purples only a sunrise could provide. He despised it. “We stopping at Bobby’s while we’re in the state?”

“Wrong side of the state. That’s like another three, four hour drive,” Dean scratched his chin. “I figure we’re only gonna ask Bobby if Dad gets  _really_  desperate. Remember last time we were there?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, well.  _I’m_  really desperate.”

“You show up on his doorstep in  _that_  body and he’ll shoot you.”

Sam scoffed, “Dad sure knows how to win ‘em over.”

Dean waved a hand dismissively, “Eh, you know they’ll make up sooner or later.”

“Yeah, when Dad needs something.”

Dean shook his head, “You’re pretty hard on him, dude.”

“ _I’m_  hard on  _him_?”

“Alright, alright, I’m not looking to start a fight, christ. We get going, punches are gonna start flying. I’ll break your hip. Dad’ll get pissed and blame me.”

Sam huffed out a laugh, “He deserves it.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. Sam watched their father in the truck in front of them pull into a parking lot of a motel on the edge of town. Dean followed him, stopping the Impala into an empty spot next to him. Sam, bringing his nails to his teeth, watched out the window as John walked into the motel office.

Dean turned the car off and looked over. He studied Sam quietly.

Sam, feeling eyes on him, turned to Dean, “What?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re biting your nails,” he said observationally. Sam shrugged confused. “But they’re, like,  _Dad’s_  nails, like… you’re biting  _his_  nails.”

Sam pulled his fingers out of his mouth scoffing, “His nails. His hair. His  _dick_! This whole situation is disgusting.” He tried running fingers through his hair but shook his hands in the air, forgetting again that it was short and not his own. Sam turned back out the window and watched the body that was rightfully  _his_  stomp out of the motel office, “Dad- Or… is it me?” Sam sighed, “ _My body_  looks pissed,” Sam nodded and point to John walking their way.

“A face I know well,” Dean agreed smiling. “Bear witness to the almighty Bitch Face, Sammy. Now you know what you’ve been subjecting us to.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Not ‘Sammy,’ jerk.” He rolled down the window.

Dean called out over him to their father approaching, “No rooms?”

John reached the car, leaning in, elbows against the frame to support himself. Sam could see the clench of his jaw. He held something out for Sam to take.

“Your ID?” Sam asked looking over the picture that had his father’s face and Dan Hawkin’s name. He also handed over a small wad of cash.

Quietly seething, John nodded, “Yeah.”

Sam looked up at John who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Sam lifted his eyebrows in surprise realization and smiled wide, “They won’t rent you the room?”

John turned toward him, “Just get in there and get the damn room.”

Sam threw his head back, stifling his laughter, “Okay, okay! I’m going.” John stepped away from the door so Sam could exit. Still smiling to himself as John stared daggers, Sam walked to the office. He could hear John tell Dean they’d need to make Sam IDs to age him up.

He was still smiling when he approached the small counter with a young man behind it. This guy couldn’t be older than twenty himself. “Hi, yeah, I’m gonna need a room for today. I know check-in isn’t usually until 11:00 but I’m road tripping with my sons and we drove straight through the night.”

“Hey man, was that your kid out there? Ah, sorry about refusing him a room. We had prom last weekend and my boss chewed my ass. The kids were a force of destruction. Normally I wouldn’t care but, job is on the line, you know? Have to go by the book,” he shrugged.

Sam scratched his head, “I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble. Hormones, man.”

The guy laughed, “Yeah, what can you do? Alright, all we have is two queens.”

“Sounds great,” Sam nodded. He handed over Dan Hawkin’s ID and the cash his Dad gave him. Grabbing the room keys and receipt, Sam left the office and the manager wishing him a good day.

John and Dean were waiting outside, duffel bags in hand. John handed the bag that was usually his to Sam and they walked to their room.

It was another motel like the hundreds he’d been to in the past. This one as nondescript as the next. He watched Dean throw his bag to the floor and fall face first into the bed.

“Shower, dude. Your face is covered in dirt. Your  _everything_  is covered in dirt and you’re getting it all over the bed,” Sam sneered.

Groaning, Dean sat up and coughed a sarcastic, “Yes, Dad.” Sam kicked at his feet as Dean walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower.

Rubbing his face, Sam once again was reminded of the scratchy whiskers under his calloused hands. John was sitting at the small table looking over a book. “Was that the witch’s?” Sam asked.

John grunted in response.

“Right,” Sam said to himself. “Do you need help, or-”

John covered his face and rubbed at his eyes, “Not right now. I have a few things to see to but we’re not gonna know much of anything until I talk to Michelle.” He sighed, “You can salt the door.”

Sam laid the usual precautions then sat down on the bed. He sighed before laying on his back, wanting desperately to take a shower and fall asleep until he could wake up in his own body.

He sat up quickly. Shower. In his Dad’s body. “Ugh,” Sam groaned and rubbed at his eyes. He turned to stare intently at the bathroom door wondering if it would be worth it to just wash his face and call it good.

He heard John laugh quietly. Sam looked to find John watching him over his book with an amused smirk on his face, “You’re gonna have to do it sooner or later, Sam.”

Sam groaned, “Dad!” He stood up and heard the water turn off.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to do when you have to use the bathroom. I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t piss yourself trying to hold it.” Sam made a frustrated groan and hid his face back into his hands. “Just-” John thought for a moment, “Shower with the lights off if it’s that bad.” 

Sam thought about it and decided that was his only option.   
  
Dean opened the door. Skin dewy, wearing only his boxer shorts, he promptly fell onto the closest bed. “If someone wants to shut the curtains, that would be great,” he mumbled crawling under the covers and pulling a pillow over his head.

Sam sighed digging through his Dad’s duffel to find clean boxers and a shirt in a size that would fit his current form. Scratching his head he made the march of shame to the bathroom. He turned the light on to assess the situation. Sam made quick work setting everything up for easy access before turning off the lights and disrobing.

He had seen John naked before. He’d seen Dean naked before. He grew up seeing both of them over the years, close quarters and all. It  _really_  wasn’t a big deal. Until the idea of touching anything or feeling anything that wasn’t  _his_  became a reality. It caused his stomach to lurch. He felt nauseated. Why couldn’t he have switched bodies with Dean? He’d had his hands on Dean’s dick enough, that really wouldn’t have been an issue. It might have even made a  _few_  things more interesting. But this?

His heart raced, pounding and thumping erratically under his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feel of water soothing over his body. The heat. The weak pressure and the way it hit his face. He pulled himself away from the spout taking deep breaths to slow his breathing. Sam pushed thoughts of anything other than the task at hand out of his mind. As soon as he felt composed enough, he cleaned himself as quickly as he could manage and turned off the water.

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, steam rolling out from behind him, he saw his _rightful_  body, John, sitting at the table. Logically he know that the body he was currently in was not his own. Right now his back hurt with an unfamiliar ache, his face itched, he was starting to get a massive headache, probably a migraine, and yet he still was taken aback to see  _himself_  sitting at the table in front of him. It was easier to deal with this when he wasn’t constantly reminded that he  _wasn’t_  himself. But, then again, he didn’t exactly want his Dad to take off somewhere with his body either.

Sam walked over to the bed his brother was passed out on and sat at the end of it. He cleared his throat, “So, Kadoka?”

John lifted his eyes from the book that held his attention, “Yeah.” Sam hadn’t had the easiest of childhoods but right now the years truly shone through in ways he didn’t think possible. He looked hardened. Angry. Tired. John sighed, “I’m gonna need you call this number,” he handed Sam a scrap of paper with some six-oh-five number on it.

“Wha- what do you want me to say?”   
  
John scratched his head, “Michelle. She’s pedalling the kitschy shit to tourists near the badlands. She’s got some background in legitimate paranormal, though. Some witchcraft, shamanism, it ran in her family.” He sighed, “I gave her the rundown, best I could. She’s doubtful about the whole situation. Took some convincing to hear me out. She knows my voice. My  _real_  voice. So, she wants to talk to you.”

Sam stood from the bed and joined John at the table. Pulling the phone closer he yawned as he dialed the numbers.

“Hello?” A small tinny voice answered.  
  
“Um, is this Michelle?”

“Yes?”

“This is-” Sam looked up to John shrugging, not knowing what name to give. John nodded for him to continue. “This is Sam Winchester.”

“Uh, huh?” The voice on the other line sounded doubtful.   

“Um, I think my Dad spoke to you earlier? About our little… problem.”

“Kid called sayin’ he was John. Got your bodies switched.”

“Yeah,” Sam scratched at the table absently. “Yeah, well, that  _kid_  was my body. I’m in John’s.” He spoke softly, “Do you think there is  _any_   way you can help? Anything? You have no idea how much we’d appreciated it.”

He heard the woman laugh through the line, “I didn’t really believe your old man before but thought I’d give him the benefit. Haven’t seen a case like this myself. Piqued my interest. You either switched bodies or John Winchester got his self possessed. Either way  _he’s_  not in the drivers seat.” She laughed louder now, “John Winchester must be livid hearin’ his body sound so polite and full of gratitude. Can’t say he don’t deserve what happened, though.”

Sam released a sigh of relief, “So, does that mean you’ll help?”

The woman on the other line hesitated, “Well, now, I don’t-”

“Please?” Sam begged. “Please. I can’t stay this way. I  _can’t_. I’m a senior next fall and I know you’re mad at my dad but-”

“Alright, alright,” she interrupted. “Wouldn’t sit good on my conscience to leave you stuck like that. Even if  _John_  does deserve it. Suppose you’re the one getting the short end of the stick. Tell him he can come.” 

Sam exhaled, “Thank you!” He smiled, nodded and mouthed ‘yes’ to John. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“I haven’t done anything yet, kid. Not sure’s anything I  _can_  do. But you can come and I’ll look it over. To be honest, I’m still not entirely convinced. Figure this is one where seein’ is believin ’.”

John gestured for Sam to hand the phone over. Brow furrowed he spoke into it, “Good enough for you, Michelle?” He tucked his free arm under the other. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “Right. Well. I don’t know about-” John fidgeted in the chair before he suddenly sat up right. He looked at Sam and told her, “Okay. Expect us around 7:00pm. Oh, and Michelle?” He scratched his brow and grumbled, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freaky Friday (1995)


	3. Chapter 3

Dean rubbed his temple applying distracting pressure as he looked out the car window, trees and on coming traffic blinking past. He woke that morning with the biggest fucking headache, and that alone would be enough to throw him into the bad side of the day, but pair that with their current circumstance? It was enough to give him an aneurysm. For now, he pushed through the nagging instinct to freak the fuck out. Best to at least wait until Michelle looks over his brother. Plus he needed to hold it together for Sam who, he was pretty sure was losing his shit.

The previous night he didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Momentary lapse in judgement due to brain trauma most likely. He was cracking jokes about it. Of course at the time it had seemed funny. Hell, downright hilarious. But now with the bright light of day illuminating the reality of it, all cards on the table, there wasn’t a goddamn thing amusing about it. Not until they could figure out how to switch Sam back.

The drive to Kadoka went as smooth as Dean could have hoped. Minimal road construction for which Dean thanked whatever deity wasn’t accepting blood payments. Sam was uncharacteristically silent next to him, which was fine by Dean. He wasn’t feeling particularly chatty himself and no doubt the kid wanted his time to brood.

Dean tensed and released his grip on the wheel, smoothing over the worn leather. As non-conversational as Sam chose to be, he was far from noncommunicative. The closer they approached Kadoka the more skittish Sam became. And, hell, Dean couldn’t blame him. Poor kid had his future on the line. And Sam was right, Dad would take what he got and he’d work with it. But  _Dad_  got a hell of a lot better deal here. All Sam got was a foot in the grave. This time, unfortunately, metaphorically.  

Dean turned, stealing a glance. Sam was practically shaking next to him. The knees they both knew as their father’s bounced restlessly. Sam was nearly scratching at the interior. Dean opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t think of anything to console his brother. What the hell  _could_  he say?

Breathing deeply, he turned back to the road. Back to the familiar truck in front of him with the too familiar silhouette of his brother that  _should_  be riding his shotgun. Relief flooded over him as he finally saw a sign for Kadoka. T minus 10 and counting. Their father made a turn exiting the highway and he followed close behind. It lead them on a gravel road. Dean bit his lip at the thought of what the rocks were doing to his poor Baby. Probably not the most pressing matter but it was still irritating as hell.

The house they pulled up to was nothing to be impressed by. Small. One story. White and plain. It fit in with the rest of the town. Kadoka was proudly living up to it’s ‘Hole In The Wall’ namesake. Dean parked the Impala on the side of the road behind John’s truck.

“Alright?” Dean asked. Sam nodded biting his lip, looking nervously out the window. “Let’s go,” Dean gave him a reassuring pat on the knee and got out of the car.

The woman was waiting outside her front door, arms crossed, middle aged with dark hair and a few wild streaks of grey.

“Goddamn! Well if it isn’t John Winchester. Never thought I’d lay eyes on you again,” she greeting looking at John’s body which Sam was wearing with an anxious expression. “‘Course, strictly speaking, I’m not  _quite_  layin’ eyes on you now.” She smirked and turned away from him, “So. Which one of you is John? No wait-” She pointed at Sam’s body, “I’d recognize that pompous exasperated look anywhere.”

John scoffed reluctantly, “Michelle.”

She eyed them over disdainfully before waving them inside, “Well, come on then.”

John walked forward followed by Dean then Sam, abashed, trailing behind. Standing in a small entryway Dean saw a cozy living room to the left with a sectional couch, a kitchen to the right, and a narrow hallway between. Her house was fairly empty compared to other hunters he knew. Hardwood floors creaked loudly under foot as he peeked around, not much hanging on the walls and only a small TV in the living room.

“Alright,” Michelle pointed to the table in the kitchen, “Have a seat. And tell me what the hell happened.”

They trailed in after her, each pulling up a chair around her small table. While John explained to Michelle what occurred in the field, Sam sat nervously biting his lip, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Michelle eyed him over warily several times while John told their story.

Relinquishing a book and small stone, John scratched his head, “This was all I found on her and in the house. Looks to be an incantation and a runestone. I can’t read it. Don’t recognize it. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me what it means.”

Michelle eyed over the rock. She pulled her lips together and looked at the book and few loose pages with foreign markings. “Well,” she started, pausing to study the rock from the other side.

“Do you recognize it?” Sam interjected distressed.

Michelle hummed, which briefly set Sam’s mind at ease. Until she added, “I recognize some of these symbols. I’ll have to translate a bit of this but-”

“But? But what?” Sam asked, heart dropping.

“What night did you say this happened?”

“Just last night,” John grumbled. “Before midnight.”

“Honestly,” Michelle laughed, “I can’t tell you for certain what spell she used but this is definitely tied to something lunar.”  She pulled her mouth to the side and eyed Sam, “Sorry to say but a  _normal_  full moon could bind some pretty strong magic, if you knew what the hell you were doing.” She put the stone down and studied John carefully, “But, last night was a lunar eclipse.”

“What? No,” John stared at her. “No, it wasn’t. We were digging all night. We did not see any goddamn eclipse,” he grunted.

“Not visible here. Asia. Australia.” She sighed, “See, now, during eclipses the planet aligns a certain way, makes some spells more powerful. My guess? Any normal night and this spell would have worn off in couple hours. During an eclipse, I gotta say, with the right spell it could very well be permanent.”

Sam stood up abruptly, upsetting the table and startling their hostess. “No. No, no no. This can’t- There has to be-” Sam started pulling his hands through his hair.

“Sam. Sit down.” Sam looked at his father, lost. “That’s an order,” John barked. And out of shock, Sam obliged. “Let her finish speaking.”

“Hey, look,” Michelle grabbed for Sam’s hands. Her eyes met his fearful ones, “I was  _going_  to say,  _you_  weren’t under a direct eclipse. So it’s more than likely gonna wear out.”

Sam exhaled in relief and dropped his arms to the table, quickly bowing his head to rest in them,  “Oh, thank god.”

Michelle leaned back in her chair, “Yeah, well, don’t get too relieved. Still was an eclipse, right? That’s enough to put a monkey in the wrench.” She scratched her arm sitting back in her chair.

Sam frantically met her eyes, “Like, how. How could it-”

“Now see,” Michelle interrupted, “We need to do some research on that. Could last a few days, could be longer.”

John spoke up, “How much longer.”

“How good of a witch was she?”

“I don’t know,” John sighed, wiping his mouth. “Pretty damn. Not good enough to stop us, though.”

“Couple weeks. Couple months. Sorry to say but, hell, a couple years.”

Sam swallowed a pained noise, head back down on the table. Dean, his heart dropping, quickly gave Sam a reassuring pat to his back, rubbing, trying to soothe him. Not helping much, he felt useless in the moment.

Michelle looked John steady in the eye, “There might be some ways we can speed up the process. You’re not entirely up the creek here. We need to break down the spell first. Means research.”

Sam perked his head up, determined, and stared at Michelle, “Give me every book you have. I will stay up all night going through  _every_  goddamn book in your house.”

“Sam,” John warned. He turned to Michelle, “Do you  _have_  books on this?”

“Yeah, I think I can scrounge a few up. Bobby Singer probably has a better collection. He’s not too far.”

John grunted, “Let’s start with what we have available."

 

* * *

 

Waking up yet again to rediscover he was in John’s body, Sam had already felt uneasy all day. But when Michelle told them this might last years? Bile rose, burning in his throat and his stomach tried to jump from his body in full out nauseated sickness. Sam couldn’t fathom ever eating another ounce again in his lifetime, though Dean did try to entice him. The jack hammering in his skull made any research near impossible and, even though his body was beyond exhausted, he couldn’t sleep even if willed himself to try.

On top of that, he finally bit the bullet and used the bathroom in John’s body. Pissing wasn’t as traumatic as he envisioned but he’d still rather it all end sooner than later.

Sam found it increasingly difficult to be around  _anyone_  but especially John. Not that he could forget, but every time he looked up from a book it was a vivid reminder in blinding technicolor that someone else was walking around in his body. As the night wore on the bitter feeling only increased.

An uneasy urge suddenly overcame him and Sam had to retreat to the bathroom, shutting everyone out, locking the door from inside. He kept the lights off, a small sort of protection not being able to see himself. There’s no way in hell Sam was finishing out the end of his junior year. And, Jesus,  what would he do if this lasted all summer? What if he couldn’t even graduate high school? The thought triggered something in him that made his heart beat ferociously, wild and untamed in his chest.

He concentrated on slowing his rabbiting heart. A cold sweat saturated his hairline and ran trickling down his back. Hands shaking, Sam turned the tap as cold as it would go and held them under the running water. Trembling, he just  _couldn’t_  live his life in John’s body.

If he stayed like this, in John’s body, this life was it for him. And he couldn’t do it. He  _wouldn’t_  live like this. He’s done. He’d find a way to make it look like an accident, something on a hunt, but he is  _not_  living like this. Dean and Dad can keep looking for Mom’s murderer. Yeah, it would be hard for Dean but he’d still have Sam’s body to remember him by.

Sam squeezed his eyes tight, fighting to push wildly racing thoughts from his mind. Breathing. Slowly. He made tight fists in the water - flex and release - focusing all his will to  _just_  pay attention to his hands. Not his shaking heart. Not the unbearable heat. Not the nausea in his stomach. This feeling would pass. It couldn’t last forever. He wouldn’t let it.

Finally, his breathing slowed to a manageable pace and he could feel the hot flash break and subside. He splashed water on his face before turning off the tap. Leaning back, his body slid down against the wall, uselessly sprawling the floor. He sat in the dark for some time, throbbing head resting against the wall, before he heard a quiet knock.

“Sam?”

It was Dean. Sam didn’t know if he should be relieved or embarrassed. He  _wanted_  his brother here. He felt so young, and afraid, and he wanted something familiar and safe. But he didn’t want Dean to see him. Not like  _this_. Like John. Having a conniption on the bathroom floor.

“Sam? You okay?”

He sighed, turning the light on, pupils constricting, he squinted from the brightness. Putting a hand on the doorknob he cracked it open. Sam’s hoarse voice scratched, “I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean looked at him, concerned, “You don’t look fine, man.”

Sam let out a long exhale of breath. Opening the door wider he stepped out. “I think,” he rubbed his eyes, “I think I just need some fresh air.”

Dean moved to the side, allowing his brother to pass down the hall. Sam walked straight to the entryway ignoring the searing look his father was boring into his back. Sam felt Dean follow cautiously behind.

The screen door slammed weakly as he stepped outside. It was dark now. He wasn’t sure how late. For hours they’d been reading through everything Michelle owned. She made a few calls to have more resources shipped to them.

From the attitude she was giving off, Sam was surprised when Michelle offered them her couch and floor to crash on but,  _‘Only for a few days. This ain’t a Bed and Breakfast. We can’t figure this out in a week and you’re finding a place of your own.’_

But she seemed optimistic, he thought. Maybe? Michelle was hard to read. Or he wasn’t feeling up to reading people. Probably too close to the issue to accurately evaluate. Maybe it was just wishful thinking?

Sam, inhaling deep, sat with knees popping on her porch stairs. He looked into the night and down the dark street. Kadoka was beyond small. Hundreds lived here, so they said, but Sam would hesitate to claim there were more than 500. What population it did have was dominated by the tourism of the badlands and the gaudiness of the old west. Gambling, motorcycles, and bar fights were the height of sophistication and culture. Dean was nearly in heaven. Wouldn’t quite find the Guggenheim out here but if you were willing to drive a bit, even Sam had to admit you could find some of the most beautiful parts of the country nearby.

He tensed as he heard Dean approach from behind. Sam felt his brother’s leg brush against his as he sat down and looked out in companionable silence, for which, Sam was grateful. The night was too cold for them to be outside without jackets but Sam reveled in the stinging bite the wind provided. April was pretty early for spring in South Dakota as it wasn’t entirely unheard of to have snow last into May. Luckily for them, the snow was gone in Kadoka and promises of warmer nights whispered through the wind. Still didn’t mean it wasn’t stupid to be sitting outside at night without a coat, in  _April_ , in South Da-fucking-kota.

“We’ll figure this out,” Dean finally spoke softly. He pushed closer, warm against Sam’s shoulder, reassuringly trying to communicate that Sam wasn’t alone.

Sam felt alone.

But the longer they sat on that creaking porch the more the dark cloud over him began to lift. He felt more composed each minute with Dean’s warmth slowly bleeding through his jeans where their legs touched. He had a way of putting Sam at ease. Maybe it was left from all the hero worshiping he did as a kid, but Sam was starting to believe him when he said they’d find a way.

 

* * *

 

Feeling useless was something Dean never got used to. As far back as he could remember he always had orders to follow, responsibilities to uphold, keep the family above water. Trying to help Sam work through  _this_  was a new kind of hardship. There wasn’t anything Dean could do to reassure his younger brother. Feeling  _that_  was bizarre for himself, sure, but Sam was having a full out manic implosion and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing to help.

But suddenly a thought smacked him upside the head. He turned and studied over Sam’s face. His brother looked pensive and morose. Dean finally questioned curiously, “Hey, Sam, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, Dean, I told you,” Sam replied impatiently.

“No,” Dean nudged him with his shoulder. “I mean, physically? How does it feel? What is it like?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “Every muscle aches. My face won’t quit itching from this damn forest growing on it. I constantly feel like I’m gonna hurl. And my head hasn’t stopped pounding since this whole thing started.”

Dean nodded. He thought a short time before standing resolutely, “I have an idea. Wait here.”

He left Sam and entered the house. The change in temperature burned his skin as he walked cautiously towards his father who was leaning over scattered books on the living room floor.

“You guys done with your break yet? You avoid this and it’s only gonna take longer,” John looked up at him. “Sam should know that.”

Dean nodded trying to gain the courage to speak. Feeling nervous, not sure how John would take the idea, he coughed, “Dad, Sam isn’t really feeling too hot.”

John scoffed, “Yeah. I’m getting that impression.”

Dean brought his fingers in front, fumbling them together. “No, I mean,” he scratched his head. Sighing, he quickly rushed, “Look, I’m just gonna say it. Sam is in your body-”

John provided him a questioning glare, “Yes. I’m-”

“No,” Dean interrupted. “I mean,” he sighed, “How long has it been since you, your  _body_ , had a drink?”

John’s eyebrows lifted in realization of what Dean had been trying to communicate. John turned away abashed and rubbed his hands over his tired face. It was unnerving to Dean to see such sadness and stress behind what are supposed to be his brothers carefree eyes. Now exchanged with a look of experienced sorrow lurking underneath.

John finally met his eyes and agreed, “Yeah, alright. There’s some beer in the fridge. Tell him it is  _only_  until this is over with.”

Grinning slightly, Dean replied, “Yes, sir.”  
  
Walking back in the cold to Sam with a six packs in hand, Dean couldn’t help but smile in victory. He sat down next to his brother and handed one over.

Sam looked up at him questioning, taking the offering his brother supplied, “New plan is I get to blackout until you and Dad figure out the spell?”

Dean scoffed, “No dude, this is-” He opened one for himself and continued, “Dad, drinks a lot, you know?”

Sam laughed sarcastically, “Understatement of the year.”

“Right well. It’s been a little while-”

“Ah,  _damn_.” Sam met his brothers eyes with a look of realization hitting, “I thought I was going crazy, man, you have no idea. My skin is crawling.”

Dean playfully slapped his leg, “Nope. Just suddenly an alcoholic.”

Bringing the bottle to his lips Sam threw it back smiling, “Hell, if this doesn’t work then at least I can be sufficiently buzzed.”

“Take a bit of the edge off,” Dean agreed smiling, which Sam returned.  “He says not to get used to it, though.”

Sam sneered, “Wouldn’t want to end up like him, right?”

“Yeah, he wants some IDs for himself too. I think to hit the bars. Didn’t quite have the heart to tell him that we’ve had that covered for a while.”   
  
Sam frowned continuing to drink, “If he gets  _my_  body addicted to this shit I’m going to throw down, dude.” He pointed at Dean, “And I’m putting that on you, man. He doesn’t listen to me.”

“Think that’ll take more than a couple days.” Dean smiled shaking his head, “‘Sides, you’re such a lightweight. He’ll have two and be three sheets to the wind.”  
  
Sam laughed to himself and took a sip. Quietly he asked, “You really think it’ll only take a few days?”   
  
“Yeah, Sam,” Dean scratched at the label on the bottle. He turned away to look down the street and softly added, “I do.” Sam nodded to himself but otherwise had no response. Dean joined him in silence, face warming, soothing the sting of the cold fading with each sip.

It didn’t take long for Dean’s mind to cloud over. He tried to push away thoughts of losing Sam to John’s body. It’s not like Sam was  _gone_. The body next to him screamed ‘Sam Winchester.’ He’d pick that boy out of a line up any day. Any form.

But it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t smell the same. It was an odd thought to realize but, fuck it, Dean missed how he smelled. His Dad just reminded him of… his own personal disappointment and.... unachieved potential. Uneasiness. It was hard to really relax around Sam how he was now.

They continued drinking, bottles clanking into the small grave piled behind them. No matter how hard he fought, Dean couldn’t bring his mind to stop racing around thoughts of losing his brother forever. They  _were_  going to fix this. He damn well knew deep down that he’d get  _his_  Sammy back but the eerie nag of the wrongness at the situation still ate at his stomach. Didn’t help him to enjoy the buzz.

Dean turned toward Sam, head lolling, “Sammy. We’re gonna get you back, man.”

Sam just nodded in silence, looking back out into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Discovering his freak out was mostly withdrawal and only partly panic attack, went a long way to help ease Sam’s mind. Over the next several days he tapered off the alcohol the best he could. He began to feel better. Sam started to feel like this was manageable.

John, however, grew more and more emotional. Annoyed one minute and furious the next. He took it to different degrees and over seemingly pointless issues, a current of rage welling under his skin. Raging more than  _usual_ , that is. Sam was starting to feel like he understood why his Dad previously got so annoyed with his hormonal outbursts. They were exhausting to be around.

Michelle had said she’d give them a week of couch and floor surfing before she’d kick them out of her house. Books and reference materials were mailed overnight, but towards the end of the week they were nearing the end of material.  
  
Pushing his badgering fears aside, Sam immersed himself in research. Over the week, there were small victories. Hints that, no, this  _wasn’t_  going to be permanent. Minor clarifications that helped put Sam’s mind at ease. And then the break they were looking for finally struck.

“Got it!” Michelle exclaimed.

“What?” Sam perked up. “Got what? A cure? A translation?” He asked hopeful.

“Eh,” Michelle teetered her hand back and forth in the air, “A loophole.”

John stood up to assess her findings, “You think we can do this?”

Michelle scoffed and waved her hand in dismissal, “John. Please. It’s a cakewalk.”

“I’m gonna get my body back?!” Sam stood abruptly and dashed towards them. He looked over John’s shoulder ( _his_  rightful shoulder that, with any luck, he would be getting back soon) to an old yellowed and worn book. There were weird scratches on the pages he assumed was writing of some kind. “When?” He looked to Michelle expectantly.

“Alright, this isn’t an overnight kind of thing, kid.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped in disappointment.

“We need to gather ingredients, some could take a couple weeks with shipping. And being that this is a lunar spell, you want zero room for failure? We need a full moon.” She crossed her arms, “Couple weeks tops.”

“The  _next_  full moon?” Sam said smiling bright.

Dean, next to him, gave him an encouraging pat on the back, “Not so bad, huh?

John asked, “What ingredients we need?”

Michelle reviewed everything they’d have to acquire for the spell. A few rare items. Rare but not impossible. Expensive perhaps. A bit of hitting the road to track some of them down. Maybe a bit of grovelling to Bobby if things got dire. But it was all do-able. They’d be able to fix this.

Sam hadn’t felt as great in a long time. Relaxing muscles that he was unaware were tense, he sat down with his head in his hands out of relief. A month. He could do a month. Hell, a week had already past. Three more weeks. When he returned to his body, Sam was never going to feel a shred of self consciousness again.

“How does it work?” Dean asked.

“Right,” Michelle spoke. “Okay so, their souls are fighting the natural state since they’re being forced into a different vessel,” Michelle explained. “ _This_  spell acts as a kind of reset button. It’s gonna wipe you both back to factory conditions, forcing you both into your natural bodies. Doesn’t matter what kind of spell the witch did, we’re cleaning the slate. Good old fashioned tabula rasa.”

“Tabula rasa?” John furrowed his brow. “What kind of consequences we lookin’ at here? Can’t be as simple as ‘good as new.’”

Michelle studied the book, “Besides needing an experienced spell caster to prepare the ingredients, it’s straight forward enough. Easier than doing the first switch because natural order wants things a certain way.”   

Sam released a deep sigh of relief and fell back into the couch, “This is the best day of my life.” Dean smiled at him, shaking his head from across the room. Sam closed his eyes and let the feeling sink in. Three weeks.  _Weeks_  until he could be back in his body. Not months. Not years.

He couldn’t remember his heart ever feeling so light.

 

 

* * *

 

 

To say that Dean felt relieved was beyond an understatement. With Michelle and John leaving Kadoka first thing to track down ingredients (triple checking to make sure to take Sam’s fake IDs), Dean declared to his brother that if there were ever a time for celebrating, this was it. Sam, not normally excited for the bar scene, was beaming. Right about now he’d agree to any suggestion of Dean’s.

There was only one bar in town and it was a short enough walk from Michelle’s house. Really, any establishment in town was a short walk from her house or any other house in Kadoka.

Walking shoulder to shoulder with his brother as they approached the bar, Dean stepped ahead and pushed the dive’s door open inhaling a lung full of the stale air inside. A few old men scattered to the back, probably regulars, cigarettes hanging carelessly from their mouths. A couple younger kids about Dean’s age lounging next to the pool table and playing darts, laughing at some inside joke. Any other night and Dean would try to hit them up for a game. But Dean walked straight to the bar and sat down at a tall, worn stool with Sam following closely behind.

Now that they knew there was a cure, Dean finally felt like he could give Sam a little hell. He knocked his knuckles on the table addressing the bartender, “A couple shots for me and my Pops here.” He slapped Sam’s shoulder smiling bright and showing his teeth. Sam shook his head but couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. “And a couple beers, whatever’s on tap, and keep ‘em coming. We’re celebrating!” Dean’s eyes crinkled in the corners, smile never wavering, “Wait- let’s make it a pitcher.”

The bartender, a large biker looking dude with an assortment of tattoos and piercings, nodded at Dean as he poured their shots, “Yeah? What’s the occasion?” He slid the drink to Sam.

“A return to normality,” Sam said picking up his shot.

“Homecoming,” Dean held up his. They clanked and threw them back. Dean laughed watching his brother shake his head in disgust at the taste. Before the swap the kid had really only ever had a beer here and there. Up until the switch, that is. As it was, he’d been putting back quite a few lately.

“Well, congratulations,” the bartender smiled. “You need a refill, let me know.”

“Damn straight,” Dean smiled and turned towards Sam.

It didn’t take long for Dean to get the familiar hum happily clouding his head. It was the best he’d felt in the last week, that’s for damn sure. Research was never his thing but hell if he wasn’t going to help find the solution. It was the most brainwork he’d done, probably ever now that he thought about it. And as glad as he was to be getting his brother back, he was nearly equally as pleased to leave the research behind. He missed picking up the grunt work.

It was the most contented he’d seen Sam look since the switch. Dean was relieved to see him smiling. But it was damned weird to see such a happy-go-lucky attitude on his Dad’s face. Dean considered it, how odd it was. Sam’s demeanor entirely was too modest compared to their father’s. Sam seemed turned in on himself, nearly shy. Definitely not the marine barking orders he admired growing up.

Dean snickered quietly, “Dude, you know, I shouldn’t even say it because you’re an asshole and would totally do it, but now that we know we can get you back, you could do the worst stuff to blackmail Dad.”

Sam smiled at him catching his drift. He was far more lucid since he was working with a hell of a lot more tolerance than his brother, “Put on some makeup? Nice little party dress? Have ourselves a photoshoot?”

Dean closed his eyes and threw his hands over his face, “Oh my god, dude. That is so wrong.”

“Send in a few submissions to Playgirl? Just call me Mr. October, Dean,” Sam laughed. “You know how pissed he’d be?” He took a drink and smiled bright, “I think you might be onto something there.”

“You’d be dead,” Dean opened his eyes, giggling, peeking at his brother. “Running drills the rest of your short pathetic virginal life.”

“Yeah,” Sam huffed, “Probably not worth it.”

“Nah, ‘sides, we’d just be getting you back in your meat suit and Dad’d go and skin you alive.” Dean thought warmly about the brother he was missing, “Hell, it’d put a damper on my day, all that research for nothin’.” Taking a sip he winked, “And be a shame to fuck up such a pretty body.” Dean’s face burned warm, he licked his lips feeling good. Finally relaxed. He was going to get his brother back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam finally allowed himself to give in to all the hope he had been holding back. As the night wore on, Dean kept pushing more and more beer his way, trying to get him drunk. And for once Sam felt like indulging him. Dean’s eyes lit brightly as they talked and Sam couldn’t bring himself to look away. Clearly the alcohol was having a greater impact on his brother whose lips were sieving, things escaping that he normally kept on lockdown. It made Sam’s stomach burn with warmth. He hadn’t realized how much this was affecting Dean as well, but now Sam was soaring. Shit, they both were. And whatever drinks Dean kept sliding his way were finally starting to course through his blood. He felt the most relaxed in, hell, he couldn’t remember how long.

Sam made a note that he’d have to remember this. He and Dean needed to do this more often.

He watched through lazy, heavy lidded eyes as his brother’s mouth worked, smiling in the corners as he talked. Tongue sneaking out, licking his lips leaving wet traces behind. Sam’s stomach fluttered. He had the sudden realization that it had been too damn long since they’d hooked up. Two weeks? Which was a bit of a feat for them. With the stress of the witch’s spell Sam hadn’t even considered it. Plus, being in a body that was 40-something, there wasn’t entirely a constant reminder in his pants like he had as a teenager.  

Of course, now that it occurred to him he couldn’t get it  _out_. His brain cycled through the same thoughts, staring at Dean’s strong arms propped up on the bar. How he gripped his glass tight, veins popping around flexing muscles that he’d seen a thousand times while Dean’s hand was wrapped firmly around his dick jackin’ him off. Sam moaned at the memory. He was getting a Pavlovian complex about Dean’s arms, only it wasn’t quite his mouth that was salivating. Damn, he and Dean had somehow worked out a consistent thing between them. He’d be worried about just when the  _hell_  had that happened if it weren’t for the semi he was sporting in his jeans. And, now that he thought about it, Sam started to wonder, if maybe Dean had been thinking the same thing? Is that why Dean gripped his glass so tight, tracing his fingers around the condensation sweating down? He wondered if Dean missed it like he did. It had been a while for both of them.

Feeling thoroughly placid, giving in, Sam nudged Dean’s shoulder with his and gave a meaningful gaze to the back of the bar where the bathrooms were located.

Dean lifted his eyes following Sam’s in confusion. “Huh?” Sam bit his lip, and widened his eyes meaningfully, nodding again to the bathroom. “What are you-” Perplexed, Dean shook his head.

Dean inhaled sharply fumbling with his drink as realization struck, “Aww, _hell_ no!”

“Come on, Dean. It’s been forever, dude,” Sam whined.

“No fucking way, Sam.”

Sam turned away, brow furrowing, frowning. Dean never turned him down, what the hell?

Dean punched his arm, “Stop pouting, dude. No way in hell. Have you forgot, you look like  _Dad_ , man. Ain’t happenin’.”

Sam scrunched his face, regarding Dean. Smiling, “Oh, yeah!” He laughed loudly, “I did. I  _totally_  forgot. First time in the last week.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief, “Jesus, I thought you were  _actually_  serious with that shit. Give me a fuckin’ heart attack.” Elbows on the bar, he rested his head in his hands.

Sam sat quietly before nodding in consideration, “Well, I’m  _kind_  of serious.” He smiled a little at Dean, “It is still  _me_  in here. If you were offering.”

“Which I am fucking  _not_ ,” Dean laughed incredulously.

“Aww, come on, Dean,” Sam teased. “You know-” he smirked leaning over, Sam put a hand high on Dean’s thigh and squeezed, “I like it when you call me  _Daddy_ ,”

Appalled, Dean slapped his hand away and turned on the barstool to face him directly. His face was flushed and Sam suspected it was from more than the alcohol. “This shit isn’t funny, Sam.”

Laughing, Sam replied, “It is from over  _here_.” Sam turned back to his spot and chuckled into his beer.

When he set it down, Dean answered, “I’m cuttin’ you off if this’s what happens when you get drunk.”

“Nah, dude. Just messin’ with you,” Sam shook his head. “I’m finally feeling relaxed and now that it’s on my mind I  _can’t_ stop thinking about it, you know?”

“Well, go in the fucking bathroom and jerk off like any self respecting man and stop hitting on your  _son_.” Dean shook his head, “Better yet,” he turned around looking at the room. It had filled up considerably since they had arrived. “Plenty of women around. Take your pick,” he gestured.

Sam turned around. He lifted an eyebrow mulling over the idea but he felt a little nauseated at the thought. Besides the messing around he did with his brother, Sam had never done much with anyone else. It sat wrong with him to lose his virginity in his Dad’s body. Sam turned away, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

In confusion Dean asked, “What? What do you mean? Dad’s good looking enough. And older women are easy, dude. I’ll be your wingman.” He nudged his shoulder, “Just, you know, probably should double bag it.”

“No,” Sam rolled his eyes, “I mean  _I_  don’t want it to happen, Dean.”

“Oh,” Dean nodded, “Right.” He shook his head and asked, “Why is that?”

Sam inhaled deep, stating resolutely, “Because, Dean.” He stood up from the bar and took his wallet out. Smiling tersely to the bartender, he took out a wad of cash and dropped it on the top. “I’m gonna head back to Michelle’s.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy. Don’t be mad,” Dean grabbed his arm.

“Don’t call me ‘Sammy’,” he ripped his arm from Dean’s grasp. Sam took a moment to calm himself, “It’s fine, Dean. I’m just tired.” He smirked, “I’m not as young as I used to be, right? I just wanna sleep. I’ll meet you back there.” He rubbed his face, “I’m not waiting up so, have fun. Be quiet when you come in.” Sam walked away from his brother, leaving Dean shrugging behind.

Opening the door to the fresh cold air, he stepped into the night, feet crunching on the loose gravel underneath. Sam didn’t let himself think about it very often but rarely it  _did_  cross his mind that what he and his brother were doing wasn’t, strictly speaking, healthy. But what about his life was? Moving ten times a year? Researching ancient texts? Hunting goddamn monsters? Dean was right for stopping anything from going to an even more fucked up place between them.

Didn’t change the fact that Sam was still horny.  _And_  in his Dad’s body. He’d gotten over the fear of showering and general nudity but he didn’t plan on jacking off any time soon. Three weeks.  _Less_  than three weeks. He could wait that long. It would be fine. Just needed to employ some deep meditation.

Cheeks burning as he continued walking down the street, he wondered when exactly did he get so used to this thing with Dean? He really hadn’t been aware of how much he’d been depending on it. And Sam wasn’t even sure how the whole damn thing started.

Well, if he were being honest with himself that wasn’t entirely true. As long as Sam could remember they’d always shared close quarters. Lots of kids did, it wasn’t a big deal. But for him, it meant while growing up they shared one less boundary. They would storm in to use the bathroom while someone was in the shower. Wrapped in towels, they'd shove each other to the side in front of the mirror, fighting for it’s use. Hell, the sparring they did frequently had them sweaty and shirtless, grunting and running their hands across each others bodies. There wasn’t much room or thought to privacy. It just wasn’t a luxury they had. So when Sam was younger and he started to hear grunting straining noises from the bathroom and later at night across their shared room, Sam didn’t see anything wrong.

Thinking about it now, that had potential to be a traumatic experience for a little kid, the kind people get therapy for, but at the time Sam never thought anything of it. It was just something that Dean did. Something older kids did. Sometimes in the bathroom. Sometimes in their shared room at night. But never in the light of day, not as kids anyway.

Sam figures mostly Dean was probably unaware of how loud and obvious he was. And it wasn’t that he was  _loud_ , per se. If Sam was honest, which apparently getting drunk made him, maybe Sam was listening extra hard. It wasn’t until Sam was a little older that he realized most kids weren’t as close as he and Dean.

Sam scratched his head and continued walking. He was definitely too boozed up to be thinking about it. But, damn it, it was really bothering him. Just when had he started to rely so much on Dean to get off?

Eventually, when Sam hit that magical age himself, he understood why Dean had been jerking off all the time. When Sam started, he was more self conscious and he saved it as something to do only while alone. ‘Course after a while he became more comfortable with himself and Dean was still going at it at night in their shared room. Dean couldn’t be completely unaware that Sam could hear him. And you hear someone getting off right across the room, doesn’t matter who it is, it gets a kid going.

One night, it was too much to ignore. He heard Dean across their room, puffing short breaths and biting back moans. Sam’s heart raced so hard the first time because he knew Dean would find out. But Sam was so hard, and it hurt, and he just didn’t care. He needed to get off. Fuck Dean for jacking off in their room. What the hell did he think was going to happen?

The breaking point occurred after wrapping a small hand around himself, Sam couldn’t help the quiet moan escaping his tightly held lips. Some might call it a whimper. Dean stopped jerking off so abruptly but it was too late for Sam to care. He kept going, never slowing a bit. He knew Dean was listening to him in the dark, across the room. He could hear him breathing unevenly in his own little twin bed. For reasons which he pushed out of his mind, knowing Dean was listening to him made Sam harder, dick twitching in his hand. His heart palpitated, thumping hard under his little chest. It felt like he was on a hunt, adrenaline pumping right along with his hand. He heard the hitch in Dean’s breath when he started up again. Biting his lip, Sam couldn’t help but let out a moan that he was so desperately trying to hold back.

And that was the first time it happened between them.

After that Dean spent more nights out of the house. Or the motel. Or the trailer. Wherever they were. He came home late when Sam was already asleep. Dean met up with more girls and used the bathroom more frequently.

Sam was disappointed but only because he was left home alone more often. He was bored. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Dean was avoiding him because of what was happening between them. It was normal to Sam. The only thing he’d really known. He’d heard Dean do it for such a long time and if Dean was doing it then it must be okay.

Eventually, Dean started staying home again. Occasionally, because he didn’t have much choice. He either couldn’t find a date or they were stranded somewhere secluded and Dad took the car.

When Dean and Sam shared a room and Sam wanted to jerk off, he didn’t have the balls to be the one to start it. All he knew was to wait for Dean’s cue now becoming increasingly rare.

Sam just used the bathroom to beat off, until that is, he got a little older. He started to surrender to his more lascivious desires. If it was late, and he was horny, fuck it, he wasn’t going to get out of bed. He was going to take care of it right there. Dean subjected Sam to that for years so he can go fuck himself if he didn’t want to put up with it from Sam.

As Sam jerked off more often, not giving a damn if Dean was in the room, Dean began to relinquish his demure sensibilities. Sam tried to be quiet and wait until Dean was asleep but he started to notice more and more when Dean would wake up and start touching himself, huffing and biting back groans, turned into the wall across the room. Sam would smirk to himself, considering it a bit of a victory because it was always better when Dean was awake and participating. Like 3D porn. Better than anything on scrambled cable or in some nudie mag at any rate. So they both grew accustomed to the sound of each other getting off. It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. It was purely natural. They didn’t have much time to themselves anyway, so might as well make the best of it.

But it changed again one night while they were stuck in Iowa sharing a bed. Until that point they had an unspoken agreement there was a strict _No Fucking Around_  policy when they shared the same bed. But Dean came home from a party one night and then that changed too.

_John had left them in some little studio apartment while he was god knows where. Sam had already been asleep, but loud stumbling aside, Sam would have woken up from the smell of the booze on his brother alone._

_Dean he ambled to their bed. Clumsily, he shucked off his jeans and shirt and crawled in under the blankets. Stretching on his back he mumbled, “Mmm, night Sammy.”_

_Sam shook his head, “You should drink some water.”_

_Dean moved his legs under the covers, “I’m fine.”_

_Sam shook his head, “Good party?”_

_“Mmm,” Dean smiled. Sam felt the bed move as Dean flexed, stretching to find comfort on his back._

_Sam turned, mirroring his brother laying on his own back. He blinked, focusing eyes on Dean in the dark, “Was Melanie there?”_

_Sam could see Dean’s lips curl in a smile , “Mmm.” He could see the small mound of Dean’s hands under the blanket, rubbing slow circles on his stomach. “Yeah, didn’t get to fuck her, though,” he groaned._

_Laughing quietly, Sam assured, “Next time, Dean.”_

_Dean muttered, “She’s wearing this mini skirt, and short shirt. Showin’ her stomach.” Sam could tell Dean was picturing her behind his closed eyes. He smiled, “Got her to come with me to the corner of the room, bit more secluded, right?” Dean kneaded his hands low on his stomach, “She starts grinding all over me. Fuck, Sam.”_

_Sam’s eyes widened as he watched with baited breath. Dean’s hands slipped lower on his body under the covers. And Dean’s knees crept up slowly, bending only slightly, tensing open to meet Dean’s hands rubbing his thighs._

_Heart beating, wide awake from the adrenalin flowing, Sam brought his own hand to scratch clumsily on his stomach, dick twitching, swelling under the blanket he shared with his brother. He stammered, “Wha- what happened?”_

_“Aw, fuck man,” Dean smiled, “I thought I had her for sure. Her tits, Sam.” Sam couldn’t take his eyes from Dean’s muscles flexing and straining under the blanket. Dean rolled his hips slightly, enough so that Sam could feel the bed shake next to him. Sam could make out the silhouette slowly tenting between Dean’s legs. Sam held his breath watching Dean meeting it, hand bobbing under the blanket, over his dick . Sam’s face heated and his heart began to race. He felt the bed tremble next to him as Dean started to pick up his pace. “Pure heaven, ’m tellin’ you,” Dean released a lewd moan._

_Sam bit his lip, struggling not to release one of his own. He closed his eyes and listened to his brother’s hitched breathing. Felt as the bed dipped, and moved, and shook, as his brother worked his arm quietly next to him._

_He was sure there were reasons not to, but hell if he could come up with one. Sam’s own hand lowered on himself, fingers pressed and traced his abs before holding tight to the base of his hard dick. He brought his own knees up, mirroring his brother next to him. Sam moved his hand up his shaft, holding tight, applying pressure more than relieving his growing frustration._

_“Then what?” Sam whispered, no more than a trace of a stolen breath._

_“When I got my hand up her skirt,” Dean whimpered, “I thought for sure I was in.” He was pumping steadily now, and Sam finally succumbed, palm wrapped tight on himself. Dean moaned, “She was so fuckin’ warm, Sammy.” Sam listened intently to Dean’s husky scratchy voice. “Dripping.”_

_Dean breathed heavy, gasping, bed shaking as he continued to pull underneath the blanket. His legs fallen open obscenely, unaware of his knees rubbing against Sam’s leg. Sam was used to the noises his brother made while he was getting off but never so close. Dean was practically mewling in his ear. And his scent. The booze Sam could smell was strong but no longer overpowering and he could make out the scent of Dean’s sweat. Dean arched back and let a final whimpering moan escape. Sam felt him shudder as it rippled through the mattress._

_And slowly, the movement next to Sam stopped._

_Breathlessly, Dean whispered, “Her ex boyfriend came and hauled her off ‘fore I got a chance.”_

_Sam hadn’t quite followed whatever the hell Dean was talking about. He panted, frustrated little groans letting them escape quietly. Sam was still so fucking hard. He was pulling himself off dry, trying to build the pace. He swore in his mind, he’d kill for a little lotion right about now._

_But then entirely unanticipated, he felt Dean shift next to him and slowly Dean wrapped his warm, sticky, wet hand around Sam’s cock._

_Sam gasped and bit his lip as his dick twitched in his brother’s hand. Fuck. Dean must be wasted. But, goddamn, he knew what he was doing. Dean moved his hand in a steady rhythm, twisting, changing pressure._

_“Fuck, Dean,” Sam whimpered, thighs collapsing to the bed._

_“Shh, it’s okay Sammy.” He felt the bed move as Dean turned to his side and then, gently, another hand was on him, rubbing at his thighs and moving underneath his dick. Dean palmed his balls carefully as he continued to stroke._

_Sam found himself rolling his hips wantonly, writhing under his brother’s grasp, trying to make himself more accessible for Dean to do whatever the hell he wanted. Dean wiped his thumb over Sam’s leaking slit, and brought it down, further coating his shaft as he moved his hand. Fuck._

_Dean had Sam’s precome on his hands. Sam’s dick was covered with Dean’s come and now it was all mixing. And Dean’s hand was so warm. Hot and holding him firm. Sam could just about taste blood as he bit his lip trying to hold back his cries. Eyes squeezed tight, he listened to his own uneasy breath. Hair soaked from sweat. Throbbing hard under Dean’s hand on him so firm, Sam’s thighs started to quiver._

_“Ah fuck, Dean, I’m gonna-” he panted, muscles fluttering. Sam twisted, arching his back, falling heavily into the mattress. Eyes held shut tight as he fell into the dark tide thrumming over his entire body._

_Slowing his breath, Sam leaned up slightly, abs flexing tight and unclenching, as he felt his come drip down Dean’s hand and onto his stomach. Sam whimpered as Dean slowed and eventually loosened the grip on his softening cock._

_Sam finally dared to open his eyes, breathing heavy, “Shit.” He saw Dean’s hands slowly move from the sanctuary of the blanket, now obscenely coated with both of their jizz._

_Sam hesitated to meet his brother’s eyes. When he was brave enough to look, Sam felt the bed move before he saw his brother laughing softly. He watched as Dean wiped his hand on the top of the covers._

_“Night, dude,” his brother said as he stretched out languidly, turning away, returning to his side of the bed._

_“Shit,” Sam exhaled again quietly. He lifted his hands, nails raking through his hair, and breathed deep. Sam listened carefully to Dean’s breathing even out._

_“Night, Dean,” Sam finally said laying back in disbelief, staring into the darkness of the ceiling._

Since then, Sam had quickly learned to reciprocated. At first  it was something they didn’t talk about and  _only_  did while Dean was drunk. Until one time Dean  _wasn’t_  drunk. And it just became something they did. And for whatever reason it wasn’t that weird anymore. Not to them.

They shared a silent agreement to avoid as much actual conversation on the topic as possible, but that’s not to say they didn’t talk about it. Neither one ignored that it was something they did. It didn’t get in the way of their lives. Dean still went out. Hooked up with chicks. Sometimes he’d come home late but it never occurred to Sam to be bothered by it.

Whatever the hell they had between them, Sam never felt a reason to cock block him. Dean was right. It really  _was_  just a ‘helping hand’ between them and the self proclaimed ‘awesome older brother’ that Dean was, he was always good about helping Sam out.

However, now that Sam was thought about it, Dean was more and more frequently staying in. And Sam couldn’t remember the last time  _he_  himself tried to ask a girl out.

He reasoned that, with how frequently they moved, it was hard to have any kind of meaningful relationship with someone. Not that Sam was looking to fall in love. But he wasn’t like Dean. He couldn’t have sex with a stranger and leave. It just wasn’t the kind of connection he wanted.

But Sam wasn’t even sure when he stopped trying.

He signed as he reached Michelle’s front door. Inside he made it as far as removing his shoes, pants, and coat before falling on one end of the sectional and promptly passing the hell out.


	5. Chapter 5

With Sam’s retreat from the bar, the novelty of getting trashed lost it’s allure for Dean. He turned and attempted to case the room. More accurately, he blinked trying to focus his eyes in the dim light until they could make out exactly what he was looking at. The old regulars long since gone, well past their bedtimes, Dean was sure. The younger crowd looked to be in the same condition as Dean. Cheeks flushed, wobbling around each other, the girls talking and laughing loudly, guys nodding into their drinks in conversation. 

A petite brunette smiled at him from across the room. He leaned back on his barstool and nodded to her. It had been a while since he’d hit the bar scene but this song and dance was one he knew well. He continued to scope out the other patrons and noticed a few young women looking sufficiently relaxed on their social lubricant. Dean himself was on this side of nearly too drunk to function. Nearly. But for now it was nice feeling being wrapped in a warm haze.

His eyes kept drifting back to the brunette. He saw she had left her friends to hit up the jukebox, no doubt going to play whatever shit passed for music these days. Dean smirked, pulling himself from his chair. He stalked across the room, gravitating towards her.

Reaching her shoulder, he leaned in. Clearing his throat to announce himself, “You know, if you pick something by a Backstreet Boy I’m going to be completely broken hearted over here.”

She turned around, brown eyes twinkling as she met his, “More of an Nsync fan, huh?” She teased, smiling and turned back to the machine, “With a pretty face like yours you don’t have to hide your admiration of boybands. You look like you’d fit right into one.” Turning back to him, she winked over her shoulder.

“Ouch,” Dean brought his hand to his chest in mock pain, “Words can hurt, you know.”    

Laughing, she hit a couple buttons on the machine and turned back to Dean. “I’m Crystal,” she offered, smiling wide.

“Dean,” he returned, listening carefully as a vaguely familiar tune expelled itself from the weak speakers.

_In the cool of the evening when everything is gettin’ kind of groovy_

Dean narrowed his eyes and conceded a smile, “You get points for picking a song made before you were born.”

_First you say no, you’ve got some plans for the night, and then you stop and say, ‘All right.’_

She returned his smile, “Wouldn’t want to break your heart now.”

_Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you._

It didn’t take long for Dean to convince Crystal to move their conversation somewhere more private. Flashing a lazy smile, he walked with her out of the bar, arm draped casually around her shoulders.

“You live nearby?” He asked.

She smiled and nodded down the road, “Not too far but there’s a park over there that’s closer.”

Crystal lead him to deserted playground, teeter totters scattered amongst swings of varying heights. A tilted and broken merry-go-round sat abandoned to the side. Wooden planked platforms and metal twisted slides comprised the majority of the park.  
  
She led Dean to the main structure and climbed up unsteady steps. Dean ghosted his hand over her ass, admiring the view as he followed. Close behind, with his hand in hers, she navigated them through uneven platforms as they made their way to the top. Grabbing his arm, she pulled Dean roughly in front of her forcing him to sit at the small sheltered platform at the top of a slide. 

Dean looked around. Behind him was a metal slide with a metal canopy over top. Wooden walls on either side littered with explicit descriptions in permanent marker and several ‘ _for a good time call’s_ engraved in the wood with numbers accompanying them.

Dean laughed, “Your number on there?”

She scoffed sarcastically, “Excuse me?” One platform down from him she stood eye level between Dean’s legs and pulled at his clothes, bringing him close. “I, sir, am a lady.”  
  
He sat, meeting her lips with his own. His tongue teasingly licked between. Dean pulled back, running his hand over her hair, “Just sayin’, I’m havin’ a good time is all.” Smiling, Crystal licked her lips before quickly bridging the space between them again.

The chilled air was making his nose cold and Dean was having a difficult time focusing all his attention on her. As he soothed his tongue into Crystal’s mouth, tasting the remaining traces of her last drink, his mind clouded over. The warmth that earlier burned into his cheeks was beginning to fade. He thought back to earlier in the night when his only concern was making sure Sammy was having a good time.

Sam had really been serious when he asked Dean to get him off in the bathroom. Looking like Dad. The fuck was he thinking? Dean shivered.

Crystal moaned into his mouth and brought her hand up to palm between his legs. Dean smiled into her kiss. It was a stupid fucking time to be thinking about his dad. Or his brother. Or whoever.

But slowly failing, his mind kept slipping back to Sam. He missed his brother. His stupid shaggy hair, and the dumb way he slouched his shoulders trying to hide the gigantor height he was growing into. And his dimples. God, he missed those damn dimples.

Dad had been commanding Sam’s body around like some cocky high school quarterback prick. Sammy had the height for it and John had the attitude, but Dean hadn’t seen him smile in several days. He didn’t realize how much that was killing him.

A sudden burst of biting air hit his lap as he realized that Crystal had unzipped his jeans. Dean fought to bring his mind back to her numbing hand gripping him firmly in his boxers, “Fuck, that’s cold.”

She laughed and nudged Dean to lay back, “I know what will warm you up.”

He obliged, barely even feeling the uncomfortable planks digging into him hard on his back. Her lips wrapped around his dick and, she was right. Much warmer. “Fuck,” he moaned, spreading his legs wider to give her more room.

Dean furrowed his brow and tried not to let his mind slip back to Sam. Tried focusing on the heat bobbing up and down and the cold air hitting giving him goosebumps. But, goddamn it. Sam, had been right. It _had_ been a while since they hooked up.

As Crystal licked and sucked and exposed him to the cold, his thoughts betrayed him drifting to the last time he fucked around with Sam. They’d been outside too. Well, nearly.

_With Dad home and not yet passed out, Dean had signaled Sam to go for a walk. Parading through the dark, they found themselves seeking shelter in someone’s backyard shed. Sam had to pick the lock to break in and Dean had been throbbing in his jeans waiting for the padlock to click open._

_He grabbed Sam’s shoulder and shoved him in roughly, looking over his own to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. Dean sidestepped a lawnmower following his brother to the back wall. They fumbled desperately with their belts and unzipped their jeans. Both pushed their pants down to their thighs, exposing as little of themselves as they dared. Their cocks jutted out, hard, leaking, and pleading for attention._

_Dean pushed Sam back, shoulders bouncing off the shed wall. Cock bobbing obscenely, waiting impatiently for Dean’s hand. Dean, averting his eyes, stood next to Sam, warm pressure bled through their shoulders touching side-by-side, backs both leaning scratching against the thin plywood wall. They each skillfully reached an arm across to the other. Sam was getting pretty good with his left hand, Dean had to admit._

_Dean let out a hiss as Sam’s hand, fucking freezing, wrapped around his dick. “Shit, dude,” Dean groaned twisting back, reflexively tightening his grip on his brother’s cock._

_“Wh-whimp,” Sam laughed breathlessly._

_But to Dean’s disapproval, Sam took his hand away from his brother’s dick. Dean whimpered at the loss and opened his eyes in time to see Sam spitting into his hand. He returned it to his cock, warmth and wetness slicking over him, and Dean hummed appreciatively._

_Sam closed his eyes, “That better, you big baby?”_

_Dean arched his back as Sam picked up his pace. “Sammy,” he moaned, “You know I don’t do, ah- fuck, you know I don’t do pet names.”_

_“Don’t lie,” Sam rasped breathing unevenly.  Murmuring he added, “You love it when I call you ‘Fart-Knocker’.”_

_Sneering, Dean removed his hand from Sam’s cock. He heard his brother whine mournfully at the absence of his grip. Dean spat on his hand and returned it quickly, “Just- shut the fuck up, dude.”_

_Both increased the speed of their pistoning arms and panted heavily in the shed, which was warming considerably. Dean appreciated the fact that anyone walking by would, without a doubt, know why the hell it was a-rockin’._

Shaking his head, Dean blinked open his eyes to Crystal now kneeling in front of him, dark hair bobbing around his cock. The wrong kind of dark hair. Too long. Fuck. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam, but christ, who the fuck cares right now. It was fine. Weird shit crosses your mind all the time when you’re trying to get off. And with how worried he’d been lately, makes sense he’d be thinking about his brother.

The warm and happy numbness he felt at the bar was starting to fade. He just wanted to finish and get home. Make sure Sam was okay. Find himself a nice bed. Or floor. Anywhere warmer where he could pass out.

Dean urged his dick to just hurry the fuck up already. His mind rolled through the spank bank archive, trying to imagine anything his brain could focus on for more than two seconds. Pamela Anderson’s tits bouncing, her tiny waist, her lips wrapping around Tommy Lee. Dean moaned thinking she looked so goddamn hot wrapped around that huge dick.

But his mind continued to betray him. The tilt of his brother’s eyes flashed from behind Tommy Lee’s hair and soon that familiar dimpled face smiled in front of him. The whispering, hoarse sounds of Sam breathing, hitching, moaning into the night. Jesus, the way he gasped and how he’d try so hard not to cry out, not to let Dean know just how much he fucking loved it.

Dean missed it. _Fuck_. He missed it.

Jesus christ, it wasn’t right. With Crystal sucking and mewling around his dick. And, fuck it, now Dean’s mind could easily substitute her with Sam instead. His _brother_. His shaggy hair a curtain for dark fox eyes to peek out. Moaning around his dick.

Dean started to rock his hips, imagining how rough Sam’s voice would sound after Dean fucked his throat raw. A hoarse and rasping reminder of how easy he’d let Dean hammer his cock into him. And Sam would swallow around him and take it and take it all and then want more.

Recognizing the warm low build, Dean placed a hand on Crystal’s hair, “Mmm gonna-”

She hummed around his cock, continuing to pump with her hand as she sucked and licked pressure under his tip. Dean shut his eyes tighter and opened his legs wider as he wrenched underneath her, pumping thick ropes of come into her mouth. She slowed her hands and swept her tongue gently cleaning his dick.

“Fuck,” Dean’s pained lament broke the silence. Hands shaking, eyes shut tight, he trembled out through the haze of his orgasm. Disgusted, his shaking was not from getting off. He brought his hands up to grasp his hair. Shit.  

Crystal giggled, tucking him back into his pants, “Mmm, that was fun.”

Racing heart pounding under his chest, Dean felt repulsed with himself. He felt sick. It was his _brother_.

“You okay?” Crystal asked. “You look kind of-”

Dean sat quickly, “Yeah. I’m not- I’m gonna-” He pushed her out of the way and jumped instantly to the ground below. He ignored the jarring pain that shot up his ankle from landing wrong. Dean leaned over, supporting himself hands on his knees, and lurched as he emptied his stomach of the evening’s libations. A cynical offing to whichever deity thought it was funny to watch him get off to thoughts of his baby brother.

Shit. He was nauseous. If he could just blackout, right the fuck now, and forget this night ever happened he’d- he’d start believing in god. Church every Sunday, hit the confessional, the whole nine. Just _please,_ don’t remember this night.

Fuck all if he remembered the weak excuse he gave to Crystal. _Thanks for sucking me off while I thought about skull fucking my brother. Let’s do it again sometime._ Dean scoffed, feeling a deep revulsion to his core. Whatever he said, she seemed to understand he had to go home. And hell, right now he couldn’t give a shit that he didn’t get her off.

He stumbled through the desolate streets trying not to think of a goddamn thing as he made his way back. He focused on the stinging of the cold. Shivering straight to his bones, thinking he deserved all the frigid air the night had to offer.

When he reached Michelle’s he opened the door, a bit rougher than he’d intended. He looked to the left to see his Dad- no, shit, it was hard to remember right now. It was his brother, asleep on the couch. Which just made the whole damn thing worse somehow, though part of him was relieved he wouldn’t set eyes on Sam’s body for a few days.

Dean’s stomach flipped again and he quickly made his way to the bathroom. He stood over the running tap and splashed cool water on his face. Rinsing his mouth, spitting, he bit back hard at the warm wetness welling behind his eyes, threatening to make an escape.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to calm his trembling arms.

This was fine. This only happened because of how fucked up things were right now. Sam would get his body back and everything would go back to normal. _They_ would go back to normal. Normal for them anyway. Dean was torturing himself over some stupid fleeting fantasy that didn’t mean a thing.

Everything would be okay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Over the weekend Sam started to feel better if not a bit bored. He was surprised when his brother chose to stay in the next night. At first Sam thought Dean had just been hungover and tired but his quiet demeanor lasted through the weekend. Sam ignored him mostly, it was probably still weird for Dean to be around him while he was in John’s body. If anyone understood he’d need time to acclimate to their new situation, it was Sam. 

Dad and Michelle were still in the wind which made Sam feel relieved. Besides the beard steadily growing on his face, and the expanded belt holding up his jeans, when John wasn’t around he could almost pretend everything was normal. That is, until he spoke. Sam found himself to be increasingly quiet as the hours passed. And Dean joined him.

Sunday his brother decided to spend his time outside of the house, keeping up Michelle’s yard and driving around town. Sam took to organizing Michelle’s books and artifact collection the best he could.  When she departed to track down ingredients John and Michelle had left her house in complete disarray. Every book she owned strewn across her floor, propped on her couch, draped over tables and counters. Sam figured organizing a bit was the least he could do to thank her for her help.

Sunday night Sam found himself lounging a bit uselessly on the couch. This body wore out so much faster than he was used to. The desire struck at odd times to take a nap. He mostly flipped lazily through channels on the TV trying to find something mind numbing.

_Give it up for Timmy and the Lords of the Underworld!_

Sam stopped. South Park, nice. He’d heard kids at school talking about the new season but it had been a while since he’d been able to watch. Never having consistent access to cable made it more difficult to fit in at school sometimes.

_Timmah! And the Lords of the Underworld_

Sam stretched out languidly blanking his mind with the music, watching the show. Dean was still out. It was getting late but he wasn’t worried. Not many places for Dean to go on a Sunday night. Unless he was out for a hook up. Even then he hadn’t been staying out all night.

As if on cue, Sam heard the door clank open. Dean walked in, shrugging off his coat. He walked straight down the hall into the bathroom, not saying a word. Now that Sam was thinking about it, Dean hadn’t really said much to him today. Dean hadn’t had a problem talking to him for nearly the last two weeks but just recently it was like he was avoiding him.

Sam heard the water in the bathroom stop running. He tried to watch covertly as his brother came out and walked straight to the fridge, taking out a couple beers.

_You’re inside of me. Deep inside of me_

“What the hell?”

Sam chuckled as he heard his brother call from the kitchen.  
  
_So deep inside, I can feel you pushing against my heart_

Dean walked hard, stomping into the living room, “What the hell are you watching, dude?”

Sam smirked, “South Park. New season started few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” he held out a beer for Sam and kicked at his legs forcing him to move over. “Nice.” Sam watched Dean’s face closely as he slid over making room for his brother. Dean lifted his eyebrows, “What the hell is _that?_ ”

Sam tabbed open his beer and turned back to the TV. “Christina Aguilera monster,” he smiled dully.

Dean nodded his head, “Accurate depiction.” He took a long drink.

Sam tried to pay attention to the show but he kept thinking about how Dean had been acting lately. It was nagging at him how distant he was. Especially since they knew there was a cure.

_Darkness fills my heart with pain_

_Timmah!_

_And when girls start to sleep with girls the auspices will rise again_

Chuckling, Sam pointed lazy to the screen, “Think they have that on tape so you could pop it into the Impala every once and a while?”

Dean shook his head, “Sounds better than most of crap you try to listen to.”

Sam smirked, “You gotta admit, it kinda sounds like your taste, though. Nice and hair metally.”

“I like heavy metal, dude, get your shit straight,” Dean smiled at him.

“Nah, I know what you listen to when I’m asleep. Full out glam metal. I’m talking hair out to here, full face of makeup, glitter, the works. Pants so tight you can tell what religion they are. Dean, if you have something to tell us, you know Dad and I love you no matter what, right?” Sam teased smiling at Dean, “Short step away from Elton John, is all I’m sayin’.”

Dean brought his beer to his mouth awkwardly. He scratched at dried glue on the can before deflecting, “Guns and Roses is legit.”

“Uh huh.”

Dean smiled tight, “Wait ‘til you hear _Chinese Democracy_. They’re makin’ a comeback, man, I’m tellin’ you.”

Sam relaxed back into the couch with Dean quietly drinking next to him. As they finished the episode they half listened to commercials blabbering in the background.

“Damn. What’s today?”

“Uh,” Dean thought, “Sunday?”

“No, I mean the date.”

“Oh, 30th?” Dean scratched his head. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Sam sat up awkwardly.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. I forgot all about it, Sam, what with everything going on.”

“Don’t worry about it. Completely slipped my mind too.” Sam rubbed his legs thinking, “I mean, I know we don’t do much anyway but, do I even celebrate? Not like it’s _Dad’s_ body is turning 17.” He shook his head huffing a laugh, “Huh. It’s a weird concept. Like, is it who I am as a _person_ that is turning 17? Or is it how long my body has been on the planet?”

“That’s some deep shit, Sam.” Dean slapped his leg reassuringly, “Dude, we’ll celebrate after you switch back. Sucks you’re not gonna be in your body for your 17th birthday, though.”

Sam shook his head, “Best birthday present I could ever get will be getting out of this damn body.”

Dean nodded in silent agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Crystal plays is Spooky by Classics IV (1967/1979)
> 
> While with Crystal, Dean is referring to the Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee sex tape (1995) 
> 
> "Fart-Knocker" is a reference from MTV's Beavis and Butthead (1993-1997)
> 
> South Park season 04, episode 04 - Timmy 2000 - First aired 19 April 2000
> 
> Guns and Roses - Chinese Democracy - If you don't know about Chinese Democracy you should check it out because it was hilarious if you're old like me. It was first announced as a "come back" album in 1999 but due to many many many set backs it wasn't released until November 2008. Throughout that time it was referenced frequently as a joke kind of as a "when pigs fly" or similar to how Sherlock fans talked about season 3 before it came out.


	6. Chapter 6

As the week rolled past, Dean found a small pile of packages addressed to him littered in front of the front door. Confused at first, he brought them in and placed them on the table.

He opened the first to discover a small square box that seemed to have a jar of sandalwood mixed with some fluid.

Sam walked over, “What’s this?”

“Happy belated, Sammy,” Dean handed him the jar.

“These ingredients for the spell?”

“Looks like.”

“Have you heard from Dad?”

“Not since they left. They still have time though. I found a note in one that said to open all the ones addressed to me.”

“Two weeks,” Sam said nervously.

Dean opened the rest of the boxes and arranged everything safely on the table. Some of it he recognized and others he didn’t. Not hearing a word from John, Dean was beginning to feel like this was the longest month of his life.

On more than one occasion Dean’s mind traitorously found it’s way back to the night in the park with Crystal. He hadn’t been lucky enough to forget, but not having Sam’s body as a constant reminder made it easier. Dean’s stomach flipped thinking about Sam’s lips, wrapped so tight around him. He  _still_  thought about it. He couldn’t stop. It was like when someone tells you not to look. You have to look. You  _have_  to. But it was fine. This was just his brain’s way of working through some weird shit. He just missed Sam. His properly meatsuited Sam.

With obscene visions of his brother making cameo appearances in him mind, Dean felt increasingly awkward around Sam. A feeling he hoped would fade as the week progressed but it only seemed to get worse as his daydreaming persisted. Not that it was so much a daydream as it was nightmare. He could tell when Sam started to notice he was acting weird, shooting him questioning glances. Dean ignored him. If he didn’t think about it, it wasn’t a problem. And, it  _wasn’t_  a problem.

It wasn’t like he was going to act on it or anything. Jesus, they were freaks enough as it was. But of course he couldn’t help but think about getting his hands on Sam’s dick again the first chance he got. Sam in his own body. It had been so damn long.

The thought made his heart race but he knew  _this_  was the line. The one he wasn’t going to cross. As much as he was thinking about it, which was a hell of a lot, Dean was resolved the put an end to whatever was going on between them. At least until they went back to normal. Until Dean could laugh in disgust at the idea of wanting to fuck his brother.

He came to the conclusion after a particularly vivid fantasy of slamming Sam against the wall and shoving his tongue down his throat. It wasn’t right. He  _knew_  it wasn’t. He didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking letting anything happen between them at all.

It had just progressed so naturally. Jacking off in the same room, hell, he’d done that with some of his friends over the years. Normal, hormonal shit. He didn’t think much of it when Sam started doing it in the same room, but yeah okay at first it was kind of upsetting, then later it might have actually made it hotter. Definitely better than going completely solo. But Dean still went out and tried to get laid. Which had been a more challenging feat as a teenager but nothing he couldn’t handle.

But fuck. Now that he thought about it, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he saw Sam try to score. Dean used to tease him about some of his little crushes but it had been a long time since Sam had tried to bring anyone around. He knew the kid was shy but what if this thing between them was fucking Sam up?

It was fucking Dean up.

The only conclusion Dean reached was that it was time they put an end to it. It wasn’t normal. Not at their age. Hell, not ever. Dean should have known better from day one. So that was it. The last time in the shed was going to be the last time  _period._

Dean felt relieved with the intention of his new plan. The thought of his Dad coming back, walking through the doors, hearing  _that_  voice, Dean was extremely apprehensive about how he’d respond seeing him. But he was gaining courage about confronting Sam’s body again.

And just how much more fucked up could this situation be? It couldn’t just be graphic sexual desires about his brother, christ. No, on top of it was his dad thrown in. Was it seeing Sam’s body, arrogant and cocksure piloted by his father, was  _that_  what triggered it these fucked up thoughts? Did Dean have some warped fucked up patriarchal Oedipus complex going on? Jesus. He ran a cold sweat even thinking about wanting to fuck his Dad.

No.

Dean decided that was absolutely  _not_  what was going on.

Both Sam and Dean had been waiting patiently for word from their father but predictably they heard nothing as the week wore on. It wasn’t until the middle of the following week they heard the pounding on the steps outside, John lugging a cloth duffel bag and Michelle trailing behind with her own.

Sam heard them first. He called to Dean, who was in the bathroom, announcing their arrival and ran to hold the door, “Did you guys get all the ingredients?”

“Nice to see you too. We’re fine, thanks,” Michelle smirked at him.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized.

Dean froze. He couldn’t bring his hand to open the bathroom door and see Sam’s body. He heard his brother talk with Michelle.

“I hope everything went okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid,” Michelle laughed. “We got it all. Assuming the packages arrived, that is.”

“Yeah, they’ve been coming in the past week.”

Dean recognized heavier steps before hearing, “Sam, unpack this bag. Make sure nothing’s broke.” Exhaling slowly at his brother’s actual voice, Dean tried to will himself to move.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied.

“Where’s your brother?” John asked.

“Um, I don’t- DEAN!” Sam yelled across the house, “Dad’s back!”

John shook his head, “I could have done that myself.”

Dean inhaled and gripped the handle tight, opening it to see his father at the table in the kitchen. He was surprised to see that, as much as John complained to Sam about it, John hadn’t cut his hair short. He had the same messy fringe falling into his eyes, obscuring his view as he opened boxes and sorted ingredients. Sam’s hair was something Dean had been unaware he’d been worrying about until he saw it swishing around in front of him.

Approaching slowly, Dean smiled, “Hi, Dad.”

John looked up and nodded, “Dean.”

“Good trip?”

John grunted, “Well, we have everything so it went about as well as we could hope for.”

“You should have seen him at Singer’s,” Michelle chuckled.

“You went to Bobby’s?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

John huffed, “He was happy to see  _Sam_.”

Michelle smiled, “Didn’t take long to figure out somethin’s wrong, though. Sharp one, that old man.” Michelle laughed pulling a beer, recently replenished by Dean, out of the fridge. “He wanted to raise his shotgun at him when he figured it out but thought better of it since he’d only be hurtin’ Sam in the long run.”

John pursed his lips annoyed, “He helped us in the end, didn’t he?”

Michelle opened her beer. Smiling, she took a drink. “After a bit of groveling,” she winked at Dean.

Dean stole a glance at Sam who was attempting to hold back a smirk but failing miserably.

John scratched his brow. “Right. Anyway, we’re not done yet. We have all the ingredients but some of it needs to be set up ahead of time.”

“Works better if it marinates a bit,” Michelle added.

They worked efficiently sorting all the ingredients and setting up what could be done. Dean carefully avoided getting too close to John. Not quite trusting himself.

Dean had to stop a few times to take a deep breath, but overall he was feeling okay. As okay as a guy in his situation could feel.

He was getting Sam back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Sam heard his father’s footsteps outside of Michelle’s house it was as if the heavens parted and choirs of angels rejoiced singing down upon him. He only had a week to go which, he was surprised to find, passed by quickly.

Since they only had a week left to wait, Michelle allowed them to stay at her house for the remainder of the time. That was in exchange for some manual labor repairing equipment, bit of painting, and some gardening. But Sam didn’t give a damn. It was the least he could do.

Dean was working hard along with him but he was still acting weird. Sam tried to joke with him but he wouldn’t play along. He was like an abused puppy waiting quietly off to the side stealing sad looks. But whatever. Sam couldn’t bring himself to give much of a damn about that either.

Sam found himself itching, skin crawling with excitement, the day of the full moon.  _Hours_  now, and he’d have his body back.

They had outlined the plan and he ran it over in his mind what felt like a thousand times. Being that he and John wanted zero chance to screw up the spell, they decided to drive out to the most remote, deserted part of the badlands they could find. Alone. Dean, Michelle, and in theory, any other humans far behind.

He expected an objection from his brother but Dean just silently nodded, agreeing. With the spell they were using it shouldn’t matter if they were doing it in the middle of Mardi Gras. If you had the right instructions and the ingredients were made properly, it was virtually foolproof. Of course, being the Winchesters they never got off easy, so for this they would leave nothing to chance.

Getting his body back alone was plenty to be looking forward to but, goddamn it, he hadn’t been able to jerk off in a month and it was making him crazy. John’s body was able to cope with it better than he suspected his own would but mentally Sam was forced to practice extreme amounts of meditation. It was a harsh realization to be confronted with just how much he thought about sex when he knew wasn’t going to do anything about it.

A few times he almost gave in. Just thought, fuck it, and maybe take another shower in the dark. But anytime his current dick started to get remotely interested in the idea, his brain woke up and it disturbed the hell out of him. He couldn’t get past the idea that he’d be jacking off his Dad. Even though Dean had been teasing him, any kind of fucking around adding Dad to the equation made him dry heave. And the idea that all that was left of their little family, Dean, Dad and Sam, and Sam would know all their O-Faces? No. Hell, no.

What he had with Dean was fucked up enough. Didn’t need to add the cherry on top.  

But, when he got his body back? Christ. He was going to need a full day of tantric ‘Sam’ time. And maybe a bit of convincing Dean to help out too.

He cracked a dark grin thinking about getting off with Dean. This little sabbatical, from their already unpredictable life, forced him to really think about their situation. At first he was a little freaked out at how much he missed Dean. And how many times he caught himself trying to give Dean a coded nod,  _‘What do you think, you wanna?’_  But the more he thought it over the better he felt about it. Yes. At face value it was screwed up. But anyone that took a serious look at their lives would realize that their  _whole_  damn lives were screwed up. This was the least of it. And really it was just a means to an end.

It’s not like it had progressed any further. Well, not  _much_  further. Sure, they started out going solo and now seemed to have graduated to third base, but it  _wasn’t_  going any farther than that. Sam should be wanting to do these things with girls his age. Not his brother.

But Dean was just… easier.

Sam was a keen tracker, excellent marksman, and he could cross reference ancient Sumerian texts with the best of them. Sam was a freak. His life was screwed up in nearly every conceivable way, so what’s the problem with adding one more to the list?

When it was time for Sam and John to drive out alone into the dark and desolation of the badlands, Sam saluted his brother, “See ya, jerk.”

Dean smiled sadly and replied, “Only  _you_  would prefer lookin’ like a bitch.”

Sam shook his head as he climbed into John’s truck with a huge fucking smile on his face. He was getting his body back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean started pacing the moment his brother and John left Michelle’s. The flipping in his stomach had nothing to do with fear of the spell not working correctly and everything to do with what was going to happen if it did. Sam was going to be back.  _His_  Sam. Dean had been preparing for this night so he was well stocked in an assortment of alcohol he kept stashed in the Impala. He dumped out one of the holy water flasks and filled it with vodka. That was  _his_  holy water this evening, blessing his cursed existence.

He set off walking throughout the town, no destination in mind. Most of the roads in Kadoka had a sprinkling of gravel over them and with no curb they ran unevenly into the yards of it’s inhabitants. At least the roads he seemed to find himself on. It’s possible he was in the ‘bad’ part of town. Probably only four houses down from the ‘good’ part of town. At this hour, all the houses were dark. The street lamps littered randomly down the streets gave the night a soft orange glow.

What he wouldn’t give for a little salt-and-burn right about now. Something’s ass to kick. A way to burn off some energy. A way to keep his mind occupied.

He continued to wander down the road before stumbling onto a familiar street. Squinting his eyes, Dean saw the recognizable silhouette of a slide. He laughed darkly to himself and continued to walk towards it.

Finding himself in the park where he first had the epiphany that he wanted to fuck his brother was feeling like the perfect end to this whole godforsaken ordeal. When he’d leave the park that night he was going to leave all of this shit behind with it.   
  
No more elaborate fantasies of backing his baby brother into a corner biting into his lips and down his throat, scratching red marks onto his chest with blunt fingernails. No hurried thoughts of wrapping both hands around Sam’s dick and jerking him off until he made those soft gasping sounds Dean was so familiar with. And this was the end of daydreaming about how Sam looked with Dean reducing him to whimpering writhing mess.

Dean dropped his head into his hands and focused on steadying his breath. His throat burned, why the fuck was he this screwed up?  _When_  did this happen to him? His stomach clenched and he ignored the sting behind his eyes, not really giving a damn when he felt it finally break through. The wetness cooled quickly down his cheek. Just another thing he swore to leave behind in this shithole of a town.

Finally manning the fuck up, Dean gave one last scowl to the park and drifted his way back towards Michelle’s. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone but the moon looked bright enough and his face was burning cold enough, alcohol not doing it’s job at keeping him warm.

His heart jumped at the sight of John’s truck parked out front.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam felt like he was flying. He and John cruised past the quiet, darkened houses of Kadoka and Sam couldn’t stop pulling down the mirror to assure himself, yes, he was back.

His blood sang underneath his skin and he felt aware of everything coursing through him. The adrenaline that was making his heart pound violently under his chest made it difficult for him to wipe the smile off his face. Little things kept reminding him that he was back. His knees and back no longer ached which he had a new appreciation for. And, Jesus, no more fucking beard.

Even John couldn’t help but let out a small smile.

The spell exceeded Sam’s expectations. Another blinding flash in barren wilderness and his next awareness was looking out to his father.  _At_  his father’s body.

Relief lifted from Sam in droves. His future wasn’t shot to hell. He’d be a senior next fall. Maybe he’d even eventually get away from all the bullshit of hunting and he’d never have to worry about the insanity of the paranormal ever again. Right now he didn’t have a care in the world, which was a very welcomed change.

Nearly before John had even parked the truck, Sam hopped out and made his way inside Michelle’s. “Dean!” he called, slamming the door open.

Michelle sat at the table in the kitchen. “Sam?”

Sam flashed a smile, “Yeah. We’re back. It worked!” He walked toward her and gave her a quick hug, “Thank you. For everything.”

She gave him a pat him on the shoulder, “Sure thing, kid. Glad I could help. Help  _you_  anyway. Your dad owes me a big one.”

Sam smiled, “Dean around?”

“He took off a bit after you left. Probably hasn’t gone too far.”

Nodding Sam said, “Right. Okay. Well, I’m gonna try to find him.”

Side-stepping his Dad, Sam bounded out the door. He jumped his way down the front stairs and looked out into the dark night. Peering around, squinting, he spotted his brother slowly stumbling his way towards him.

Energy flowing through him, Sam ran over to Dean, “Hey man! We just got back.”

Dean rubbed his mouth and eyed Sam over uncertainly, “Sam?”

Face nearly hurting, Sam smiled wide, “Yeah, man. It worked!”

“That’s great, Sam,” Dean nodded awkwardly and looked down the street.

Sam felt wired. He ran his fingers through his familiar long hair, “Dude, you don’t know how amazing this feels.”

Smiling back Dean said quietly, “Yeah, it’s good to have you back.”

Sam laughed quietly. He took a moment and eyed over his brother, “You okay, man? You seem a little-”

Pulling out his flask and shaking it, Dean interrupted, “Started celebrating a bit early.”

“Ah, yes!” Grabbing it from him, Sam unscrewed the cap, “What is it?” Shaking the now very empty flask, Sam smiled, “What  _was_  it?”

“Vodka,” Dean smiled sheepishly.

Sam smirked, “Got any more?”

Dean shook his head in disapproval but conceded, “Yeah, come on.”

After they were fully restocked from Dean’s hidden stash from in the Impala, they leaned back against the car and exchanged a few drinks. Sam smiled flashing his dimples, “I’m so freakin’ pumped. I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” He looked back at Michelle’s house, soft orange light glowing through the curtained window.

“You should try. I’m sure Dad’ll want to leave early tomorrow,” Dean scratched at the bottle in his hands.

“Get this,” Sam smirked, “We’re going to Bobby’s tomorrow.”

Dean cracked a smile, “That what Dad told you?”

Laughing Sam replied, “Yeah. Part of the groveling he did, made a deal with Bobby to help him on a hunt with Pastor Jim in Minnesota after we were back to normal.”

Dean took a drink and nodded. Sam joined him stealing the bottle, splitting swigs between them.

It didn’t take long for Sam’s attention to get drawn more properly to his brother. It hadn’t slipped his mind that it had been a while since he and Dean last stole away to that shed. He was determined to change that. Snatching the vodka and throwing back a drink, Sam nudged Dean’s shoulder pointedly.

Dean inhaled sharply and moved away, subtly trying to give Sam more room.

Sam, not noticing his brother’s retreat, turned his head and studied his profile. He inhaled softly, “So, I was thinking-”

“Hey man, I think I’m gonna crash,” Dean pushed himself off the car. “Started celebrating a bit too early. So I think I’m gonna head in.” Dean kept his eyes focused on the bottle he was picking at in front of him.

“Dean,” Sam whined. “Come on, man. I just got back.”

Scoffing he replied, “You didn’t go anywhere, dude.”

“You know what I mean.”

Scratching his nose, Dean turned avoiding his brother’s eyes, “Yeah, well. I’m beat, man.”

But he didn’t make his retreat. Sam forced him to meet his eyes, searching Dean’s glazed over and anxious ones. He watched Dean bite his lip.

“Dean,” Sam breathed softly, moving closer.

Dean turned his eyes away, back down to the bottle. “Sam,” he pleaded, “I’ve just, had a lot to drink, you know?”

Sam scoffed, “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

Dean shook his head taking a deep breath, “You want me to hurl on you, that what you’re saying?” He playfully punched Sam in the arm.

“Gross, jerk,” Sam laughed. “Yeah, man. Whatever,” he groaned. “Fine. Get inside then, you lightweight.”

Dean smiled walking backwards, “Thems fightin’ words, Sammy.” Sam watched him move slowly before turning in towards the house. Dean stopped right before opening the door and called out to him, “You comin’?”  
  
Sam took a moment to look up at the moon, the damn lunar cycle that threw them into the whole mess. He turned back to Dean, “Yeah. I’ll be right in.”


	7. Chapter 7

By the time they said their goodbyes, Sam professing his unconditional lifetime of gratitude, they left Michelle’s with the sun peeking over the horizon. Dean felt confident that he had only gotten an hour of sleep, hour and a half tops. Yawning and wiping a hand over his face, he sat behind the wheel of the Impala with Sam snoring quietly by his side. He followed John, cruising east on I-90 heading into the sun.  

Doing his damnedest to keep his mind occupied on anything other than the kid sleeping next to him, Dean started running through imaginary fight tactics in his head. But the theoretical punches he threw did little to ease his mind. Any time his mind drifted to seeing his brother’s dimples smiling at him, or whenever he gave into the overwhelming urge to look over at Sam sleeping comfortably, Dean quickly redirected, shielding defenses in his mind. Driving to Bobby’s would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the piercing guilt nagging at his conscience every other mile marker.

The instant Dean saw Sam the night before he had known the spell had worked. Only Sam’s eyes could light up the way they did when they met Dean’s. It made his heart race and he had to turn away in cowardice. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed those dimples beaming just for him. Any hope Dean had to resolve his newly discovered feelings was quickly extinguished, replaced with a nervous fluttering feeling in his stomach.

And it didn’t help that nearly the first thing Sam suggested when he saw Dean was to jerk off. And fuck, did Dean want to give in. He also wanted his lips to collide against the column of Sam’s neck and to drag his teeth over his skin, biting and marking him. Dean’s stomach flipped at fleeting images of throwing Sam into the back seat of the car, stripping him as Dean crawled in behind. It was repulsive, the things he wanted to do to his brother. He was disgusting. Hell if he knows how but he’d somehow been able to leave Sam and his own betraying thoughts behind in the night.  
  
Dean’s eyes burned hot. He swallowed, unevenly tightening his grip on the wheel trying to retain his composure as he stared down the asphalt in front of him. His skin crawled the entire way to Bobby’s. Give him a hunt. He  _needed_  this hunt. Anything to take his mind off of his brother.

Sam woke twenty miles outside of Sioux Falls. Dean could feel the happiness radiating off of him only making Dean feel more miserable by comparison. His brother attempted to make small talk, chattering about the migration of Midwestern accents or something, Dean wasn’t really sure. He was not in the mood to indulge him. Instead he skimmed disinterestedly out the window. Signs warning,  _Stop! Turn around! Wall, SD is the other way!_  Flat brown land. The occasional dead tree. Broken down barns. Sam eventually stopped trying to engage him when he realized Dean didn’t give a shit.

The last  miles crept by as they finally reached their destination, passing under the familiar rusted sign displaying  _Singer Auto Salvage._  Dean pulled up behind John’s truck and practically threw his body from the car. He’d been close to Sam for too long.

Bobby drifted outside meeting them. He eyed Sam suspiciously then turned to John, “I can already tell it worked. Sam, you just don’t have the same scowl you used to.”

“Wait until Dad tells us about the hunt. It’ll be back,” Dean sniped.  

“Bobby,” Sam greeted with a big smile, “Thank you so much for everything you did to help.”

John grunted and interrupted, “You get a hold of Jim?”

Bobby scratched under his cap, “Right down to business? Come on then,” he turned and motioned for them to follow inside.

They filtered into his living room. Dean found a spot on his couch and Sam followed next to him.

“Must be big for a group hunt. What’d you think it is?” Dean asked.

Bobby, leaning against his desk, said, “Well, Jim caught wind of of a while back. Started slow but the usual suspicious deaths over southeast Minnesota. A lot of kids hospitalized but no apparent causes.”

“So, you get a hold of him then?” John asked crossing his arms.  
  
Bobby sighed, “Yeah, he’s waiting for us. Getting some supplies. I told him to expect us tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Figured you’d been on the road all morning, needed a break.”

“I’m fine,” John huffed. “Call him. Tell him we’re leaving today. This has been going on long enough. It ends.”

“Probably for the best,” Bobby nodded. “And, now, he’s not sure but Jim thinks it might be escalating to newborns. Some weird stuff happening there.”

“Christ,” John sighed rubbing his hands over his face. “Alright well, just let me grab a bite and we’ll head out.”

“So, what is it you think we’re going after?” Dean stood up.

John shot Bobby a pointed look. He hesitated, “You and Sam are gonna sit this one out.”

“What?” Dean shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“We got this one covered, Dean,” Bobby added.

“What? No. If it’s so important that Jim asked you  _and_  Bobby for backup, you need all the help you can get!”

“Dean,” John warned.

“Dad, come on!” He pleaded.

“Dean, I said no.”

“But it’s going after newborns!” Dean sighed, “Okay, fine what if Sam stays then? He’s stayed on his own plenty of times. He wants to stay anyway. But you guys can use another hand.”

Bobby frowned, “Dean, Jim is just being over cautious. We got this under control. What are you, twenty-one now? Try to enjoy a bit of spring for once in your life.”

“What is such a big deal that we can’t come?” Dean huffed. “You think this has something to do with the thing that killed mom?”  
  
“No, Dean. It’s not that,” John said.

Bobby scratched his forehead. “We’re thinking it’s a shtriga,” he admitted.

Dean froze. “Oh,” he said quietly clenching his jaw. A fucking shtriga. His mind raced to the last time he’d met a shtriga. It had been the closest fucking call Sam had had as a kid. And it was Dean’s fault. And if this was the same shtriga that got away then, all these deaths were his fault too. Dean sat hard on the arm of the couch. There’s no way his dad would let him go and fuck it up again.

Dean looked away. Sam shot him a questioning glance but Dean ignored him. Finally he asked, “How long you think you’ll be gone?”

John inhaled, “Week. Maybe two. Depends on how quick we track it.” Dean nodded solemnly, keeping his eyes on his shoes. “I’ll leave a new credit card for food. You don’t need to go eatin’ Bobby out of his home. Shop for your own groceries and keep up his yard while he’s gone. He’s got a business to run. Anyone calls or comes by take down their names.”

Bobby scoffed, “Don’t worry about all that, boys. Just answer the phones is all. Do what you can. Got a couple hunters in the middle of some stuff they might needs some help researching.”

“Dean, I expect you to keep sharp. Plenty of room here for weapons practice.”

Dean nodded quietly, “Yes, sir.”

“You too, Sam.”

Reluctantly, Sam replied, “Yes, sir.”

Dean was going to be stuck alone with Sam for the next several days. He swallowed back his frustration and tried to focus his attention on John’s instructions. It was the usual routine anyway, easy to tune out. Maybe he could find his own hunt nearby. Something,  _anything_  to keep busy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The spell worked. Sam had his body back, he got to spend the next few days at the closest place he had to home,  _and_  he didn’t have to go on the hunt. He was feeling pretty damn good.

It didn’t take long for John and Bobby to finish getting everything they needed and head out of town. Bobby assured them he’d call and check in. John left a credit card for groceries and gas.

They took off with Bobby calling back, “Stay out of the hootch, will ya?”

He hadn’t had much time to think of it, what with more pressing matters at hand, but now that he had a free moment he couldn’t help but think back to the friends he left in Casper. Sam had been there nearly a full semester. That didn’t happen often. He wasn’t complaining this time, though. Sam was ready to cut and run when the body swap happened. Not that he would have had a choice anyway. Even though he was used to leaving, it still bothered him when he left his friends behind.

He pushed it out of his mind, though. Sam spent a couple hours looking through Bobby’s books. He always had the coolest shit. Really rare stuff that was fascinating to look at. Flipping through the worn and weathered pages, when he finally lifted his head he saw the sun was just past set. There was still a faint glow of dusk but it would be night very soon. Sam stood from the chair he was lounging in and went to find his brother.

Dean was crashed, passed out still wearing shoes and clothes over the cover of one of the small twin beds in the room they shared. Tilting his head, Sam spent a moment considering his brother. Dean had been a pain in the ass the last few days and now with Dad telling him he couldn’t go on the hunt, Sam expected Dean to be pissy as hell. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to care much. Sam was feeling good. He wanted to  _do_  something.

Sam kicked at the shoes Dean was wearing causing him the lurch on the bed, grasping wildly for the knife under his pillow. Sam laughed at his brothers struggle.

“What the hell, dude?” Dean moaned. Realizing there was no immediate threat, he dropped his head back to the pillow.

“Dean, wake up, man.” Dean groaned in response, further pushing the pillow into his face. “Dude, Dean. It’s Friday night and I’m wired. Let’s  _do_  something.”

“No,” Dean huffed into the pillow.

“I’m bored out of my mind here,” Sam whined.

Dean mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I said,” Dean turned, glaring angry at Sam, “You’re a big boy now. You can entertain yourself. Leave me the hell alone.”

Sam laughed at him, “Dude, come on. You’re awake now anyway.” Sam smiled, eyes wide, “Dean, come on,” he pleaded. “Let’s go out or something. It’s Friday night. We never celebrated my birthday.”

Dean groaned and turned his face back into the pillow.

“Please, Dean?” He begged.

Dean kicked his legs, “Fine, fine! I’m up. I’m up.” He rubbed at his eyes and grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “asshole,” but Sam let it slide. Smiling in victory, Sam left Dean in the room and went down to get ready himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take long for Dean to join Sam in the kitchen. Sam had a sandwich waiting for him. A small, weak apology, if you ask Dean.

After eating, Dean sighed, “Alright. So, what is it the big baby wants to do for his birthday? Do I need to pick up a pretty pink princess cake?”

Flipping him off, Sam scoffed then crosses his arms, “I dunno, man. Just figured you could pick up a few beers or something.”

He caught the subtle meaningful look that Sam flashed him. It made his stomach flip. Dean look away, swallowing awkwardly. He sat up straight in the chair. This is exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid when he had gone to bed earlier. He figured if he could just sleep the whole damn day Sam would leave him alone. He didn’t know how to deal with this.

Thinking fast, Dean nodded and said, “Yeah, alright.” He scratched his eyebrow, “You know, this is a college town?” Sam shrugged so he continued, “Nightlife is pretty decent.”

“You wanna go out?”

Dean shrugged, “Just saying, college town, college chicks. Could be a fun night.”

Sam looked him in the eyes considering. Dean watched as he bit his lip, getting it a bit wet when he released to say, “I don’t know, Dean.”

“I swiped your IDs back from Dad,” Dean used his thumb to scratch at the table. He looked up to Sam, “Come on, dude. You only turn seventeen once.”

Sam scoffed, “Yeah, and that was two weeks ago.”

“Ah, my bad,” Dean made a face. “You know what I mean, though.”

Sam thought carefully before saying, “Yeah, okay. Just-” He paused, looking Dean over nervously. “Just, for  _tonight_ , can you not ditch me? Or if you do, at least give me the keys or the credit card before you go?” Sam smirked, “I don’t care if you leave but I  _really_  don’t want to be stranded at some dive with no way to escape all the idiots.”

Dean laughed, “You’re a smart kid, you’d be able to find your way back. Maybe we could leave some bread crumbs?”

Sam smiled, “You’re an ass.”

Dean took a deep breath standing, “Yeah, yeah, okay. No ditching the birthday boy.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, “I dunno, man. Maybe we could bring a couple girls back here, though?”

“To a junk yard? Dean, they’d think we’re serial killers,” Sam laughed. “And they wouldn’t be wrong. You know for a fact where a few bodies are buried out there.”

Dean walked over to Sam and patted his hand against his cheek, “That’s why you give them a tour of the bedroom,  _not_  the junkyard, Sam.” He gave a firm, sharp slap and walked away calling behind, “Let’s roll!”

It wasn’t the best plan but Dean was hoping that he’d be able to set them up with a couple girls. If he kept his brother distracted and set him up with a sure thing there’d be no reason for Sam to approach him with their old arrangement. It wasn’t good but it was all he had.

When they found a place to park, far enough away from the main streets that Baby’d be safe, they wandered down the main drag. Dean let Sam pick the first bar. And of course the first one he pointed to had to be one of the loud clubs. Complete with smoke machines and flashing lights. Dean groaned when he entered but after quickly scoping the place he realized it couldn’t be more perfect.

The dance floor was covered with young scantily clad women, dancing all over each other. A few men were thrown in the mix, or more accurately trying to throw themselves into the mix. Dean smirked to himself. If there were a place to set up his brother, this would be it.

Dean slapped Sam’s shoulder and led them through the crowd, weaving through co-eds. He found a small table off to the side of the dance floor. Perfect view to pick a target for Sammy.

He waved down a waitress ordering some drinks and stocked them up with several shots. When Dean finally met Sam’s eye he saw a look of discomfort on his face. Dean smiled and shoved a shot in his direction. “Relax dude,” he shouted over the music.

Sam threw back the drink and leaned in close to Dean, “This isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Dean laughed and threw another back, “Just take it all in, Sammy. You’re growing up. This’ll be a new experience for you.”

Sam shook his head but took another shot. As long as Sam kept drinking and started to loosen up, well, Dean could work with that.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Sam, could feel sweat saturate through his hairline. He kept meaning to tell Dean he wanted to go somewhere more quiet. Somewhere he could hear himself think. But Dean kept pushing more alcohol his way and soon he forgot that there was any other place he’d rather be.

It didn’t take long for Sam to get pretty damn trashed. Psychologically, Sam had been used to throwing back a few beers while he was in his dad’s body. He hadn’t quite considered that  _his_  body didn’t have the same tolerance.

Sam was vibrating. Whether it was from the alcohol or the bass cranked to eleven, he wasn’t sure. His blood was singing through his body. He felt surrounded by a cloud of contentment. Sam wasn’t surprised when a blonde bombshell approached their table. He gave Dean a look to let him know that Sam would head out to give him room to work. He was just about ready to ask for the keys when he felt fingers strum up his arm.

Confused, he turned around to face the young woman smiling at him. He smiled back awkwardly. She leaned in to speak over the music, “You look a little young to be here.”

Sam pulled away, mouth slacking. It was difficult to get it to work. She was probably hinting for him to leave so she could be alone with Dean. Sam turned to his brother and shrugged in confusion.

Dean leaned over the table, “Celebrating his birthday. It was a couple weeks ago but he finally made it to twenty-one. That baby face makes it hard to believe though, right?”

She smiled at Dean then turned back to Sam trailing her fingers over his bicep, “Twenty-one? Good year.”

She had that bleached blonde, nearly white hair. Her skin was artificially tanned and her brown eyes searched over Sam’s face. Her lips were full and as he glanced down before turning back to Dean, Sam saw she had a tight body with nice breasts. Way the hell out of his league. She was his  _brother’s_  league.

Dean laughed and replied, “He’s a little shy.”

“That’s ok,” she said. “The hot ones don’t need to talk.”

Sam could tell Dean was enjoying how uncomfortable this situation was making him. Underneath the table he felt Dean kick his shin, sharp pain shooting through. Sam pursed his lips and glared at Dean. He finally turned back to the girl and said, “Sam. My name is Sam.”

“He speaks,” she smiled. “I’m Stephanie.”

“And  _I_  am out,” Dean added. “Have fun you two,” he winked at Sam and stood up.

“Dean!” Sam said quickly, shooting his most pleading look, shaking his head. He didn’t know what the hell to do and he knew he didn’t want Dean to leave him right now.

“Your name is Dean? I  _hope_  you’re not going anywhere,” she leaned close. “See, I’ve got one of those shy ones, over there, in the red skirt,” Stephanie pointed. “I promised her I’d come over and figure out the situation.” It was becoming increasingly clear that she was more than a little drunk. “See, she thinks- yes, hello dear,” She waved at her friend and turned back to Sam, “She thinks, you two are on a date.”

“A date?” Dean asked looking over to Stephanie’s friend. “But we aren’t with any girls- wait,” Dean snapped his head back to her, “You mean, together? A date together? Like me and Sam?”

Stephanie smiled at him, “I know, right?  _That’s_  what I told her. But I said I’d find out. So, to confirm, not a date then?”

“No!” Dean shook his head.

“Hey, hey, don’t be mad sweetie,” Stephanie reached over and grabbed Dean’s hands. “So what do you think? Hmm? That’s Veronica. Veronica thinks your hot.”

Dean, now mollified, looked back to the brunette. From what Sam saw, she looked attractive enough, but he was confused to see the hesitant look in his brother’s eyes. Dean turned back and looked to Sam before smiling to Stephanie, “Veronica, huh?”

Stephanie smiled wide, showing her teeth. “We’re taking that as a yes!” She slapped the table. “Let me go grab her. Don’t, you guys- don’t go anywhere. One minute. We’ll be back in one minute.”

Sam watched as she maneuvered her way to her friend. He turned to Dean, “What the hell, Dean?”

Dean chuckled, “No accounting for taste, huh?”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam pleaded. “What the hell do I do?”

Dean shook his head, “She’s hot, man. Go for it. Celebrating your birthday, right? Live a little. ‘Sides, something tells me you’re not gonna need to take the lead with that one.” He winked at Sam. “She’s out of your league, dude. We take them home, not sure  _what_  she’s gonna think waking up next to your ugly mug.” Sam glared at him. Dean smiled, “There’s the famous Sammy Bitchface I’ve been missing. Knew it was hiding in there somewhere.”

“What the hell?” Sam blinked at him shaking his head, “Dean, I don’t-”

“Dude,  _stop_  over thinking it.”

Sam searched Dean’s face. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting his brother to do but he understood why he was suddenly intimidated. He’d kissed a few girls in the past but beyond that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. And now this gorgeous blonde comes his way and he was going to embarrass the hell out of himself.

He looked up, feeling fingers tracing over his arm. Stephanie was back with her friend. Turning towards Dean, she cleared her throat, “Veronica, this is- shit, what’s your name?”

“Dean,” he smirked. “Hi, Veronica.”

Sam watched as she bit her lip and tucked her hair behind her ear. Then Sam turned to Stephanie. She had her head cocked to the side eyeing him up suggestively.

“You’re really hot,” she smiled.

“Uh,” Sam stammered, “Thanks. You too.”

She leaned in close to his ear so only he could hear, “I was gonna ask you to dance but I’ve been dancing all night.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked. “So, what did you want-” he stopped talking as he felt her hand travel tracing clumsy patterns from his arm to his knee. She wasn’t subtle about bringing it back, moving her hand higher and higher on his thigh.

“I can think of some things,” she squeezed his leg.

Sam closed his eyes focusing on the soft scratching pressure of her fingers palming up his thighs. Her mouth puffed soft warm air against his neck making him shiver despite the heat. Stephanie nudged his ear with her nose before finally tugging on it with her teeth. Sam’s heart raced as her tongue made invisible marks from his lobe, lower, traveling his neck, nipping.

She made her way back around to his ear and whispered, “This okay?”

Sam nodded awkwardly and she smiled, working her way back down his neck. His heart pounded and he could feel the constricting restraints from his dick that was quickly becoming interested. She bit hard on his neck making him gasp.

He dared to open his eyes and looked over at Dean. He was surprised to find Dean watching back with an odd expression. Or maybe it was just the light. Or the booze. Sam was pretty drunk. In the next minute his brother was giving him a thumbs up. Sam closed his eyes when he saw Dean return his attention to Veronica. If his brain had been working Sam is fairly confident he wouldn’t be too appreciative about this current circumstance but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

Sam turned his head, lifting his hands to hold Stephanie’s face carefully in his hands. Eyelids heavy, she smiled at him as he rubbed his thumb over her cheek. Mind clouded, Sam willed himself to focus on her lips, full and soft and wet. She bit them right before he realized that he wanted those pair of his lips on his. He pulled her face towards his meeting them. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean tried to hold his attention on Veronica. She was attractive enough but the second he saw that brunette hair headed his way, flashes of Crystal slideshowed through his mind. After that night he had told himself he was swearing off brunettes for the rest of his life. Or at least until all of this passed. But seeing how much of a sure thing Stephanie was for his brother he figured he’d take one for the team.

He fought against the strong urge to turn his head to see what Stephanie was doing to his brother. He could tell Sammy was uncomfortable, it practically radiated off of him. But he kept his eyes intently focused on Veronica, throwing out a smile here and there as she talked. She didn’t seem as drunk as her friend but she was sending off the right signals.  

Baring it no longer, Dean cocked his head, subtly trying to take in what was happening with his brother. Stephanie was buried in his neck. Sam’s mouth hung open carelessly and Dean could tell he was fidgeting under the table. When he saw Stephanie bite roughly at Sam’s neck a sinking feeling hit his stomach. He should be proud of Sammy. Seventeen years old and getting this hottie who is way the hell out of his league. Every ounce of his brain rationed with him that this is what he wanted. He  _wanted_  Sam to start showing more interest in girls and leave Dean the hell alone. But the burning feeling in his gut and the choked feeling in his throat seemed to have other ideas.

Sam suddenly opened his eyes and locked on Dean’s. He’d seen that look before. He knew it. Stealing glances at him, suggesting they find someplace private, Dean knew Sam was turned on under the table, no telling what Stephanie was doing under there. Dean clenched his jaw. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. He force himself to shove whatever the fuck he was feeling down deep. Dean managed to lift his hand giving his brother a thumbs up then, by some act of god, he willed himself to turn back to Veronica.  
  
At some point she had draped her hands over his arm, good enough indication as any that she was up for the same thing Stephanie had in mind.

Dean smiled beaming his bright eyes her way, “So, it looks like they’re hitting it off?” He nodded towards his brother.

Veronica turned and laughed, “Sure does.”

Dean, not feeling enough sting of self flagellation, turned again to find his brother mauling at Stephanie’s lips. Holding her head firmly, Sam positioned it where he needed for better access. Jesus, he’d never seen his brother act like this. Sam had dropped all pretense of the shy and virginal act and was a man possessed. Hopefully not literally, though it might explain this current machismo. And fuck, what was it like being on the other end of that? Dean turned away, cowardly hiding in his drink. If he hadn’t felt it before this would have been the finale blow.

Dean coughed, “So, what do you say, think we should give them a little privacy?”

Veronica eyed him over, “You have some place in mind?”

Dean, wearing his cocksure grin, replied, “I could show you my car.”

Veronica scoffed, “What are we, fourteen?”

Dean laughed, “No, no. I mean it. You’d like her, I promise.”

“‘Her?’’”

“My Baby,” Dean said proudly. He finished his last drink and stood. “We can take her anywhere you wanna go.”

“No-” Sam interject unexpectedly. Dean turned to find Sam had his hands on Stephanie’s shoulders holding her away. “No, Dean. Said you’d leave the ‘pala with me.”

Dean scoffed, “You’re not going anywhere near her. You’re trashed, dude.”

“What-,” Stephanie smiled, “What kind of car is it?”

Beaming Dean replied, “1967 Chevy Impala.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Stephanie nodded. “I think you should introduce us.”

“‘Us?’” Dean asked.

She cleared her throat, “You aren’t running off with Veronica. I just met you. ’m not letter her out of my sight.” Stephanie disentangled from Sam and stumbled her way to Veronica, grabbing her arm. “Wouldn’t mind seeing your car though,” lewdly smiling at Sam.

Dean swallowed anxiously and looked back to his brother. Sam’s face was flushed and he looked warm. He was biting his lip nervously. Shit, Dean was trying to get away from his brother but maybe this would do it. Maybe this would be the push Sam needed to realize there were much better ways of get off than begging his brother for a quick wank.

Taking a deep breath he gave a questioned shrug to Sam, checking in. He nodded back giving him the okay.

“Alright then ladies,” Dean smiled to Veronica. “Follow me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam was trying to take his brother’s advice.  _Don’t over think it_ , his mantra on a loop running through his head. Stephanie seemed nice enough and he was having fun, so what the hell?

When the group reached the Impala, Sam rolled his eyes as the girls cooed over the car. He watched Dean in his element, confident as ever. He was having a difficult time forming many coherent thoughts. Stephanie had been hanging off of his arm since they left bar, one hand finding it’s way to his back jeans pocket squeezing his ass.

After a few minutes of studying over the car Stephanie asked, “So, are you gonna take us for a ride?”

Dean smirked, “Might need to sober up a bit first.”

Stephanie smiled and opened the back passenger door. She grabbed Sam and directed him in, “I wasn’t talking about the car.”

Sam scrambled backwards awkwardly as Stephanie crawled in after him. He tried to make room but his legs were uncooperative, one on the seat and one on the floor. He scooted back trying to give her space but that seemed to be the opposite of her objective. Stephanie climbed on top of him.  
  
“Uh,” Sam looked up at her wide eyed. “Hi?”

She narrowed her eyes considering him, “You haven’t been with many girls, huh?”

Sam felt his face heat up, burning red, thank fucking god it was too dark to see. He stammered, “Well, I-”

“No, honey,” Stephanie smiled. “It’s  _okay_. You’re doing great.” She leaned in and met his lips searching for his tongue with her own. She nipped carefully at his bottom lip and pulled back, “You’re just being really sweet is all.”

Relieved, he looked into her eyes. He was nervous as hell. Sam wasn’t sure what to anticipate but when she met his lips again he started to relax slowly. He shifted and adjusting, making himself more comfortable underneath her.

“You know, it’s kind of hot, actually.” Stephanie moved her hand, kneading the muscles in his thigh. “You’re just so...  _responsive_ ,” she smirked.

Sam watched her smile through wide eyes. He didn’t know what the hell was going or what she was expecting from him but right now whatever she was doing felt good. And it would be more than okay with him if she continued. He just needed to stop over thinking it. His head was spinning. He closed his eyes to feel her hand rub over his dick.

The door to the front opened exposing a sharp chill. Sam’s eyes shot open to see Veronica crawling backwards on the front seat followed quickly by Dean. Sam watched the muscles in Dean’s back flex as he lowered himself on top of her kissing along her neck.

Letting out a moan, Sam’s cock throbbed behind the restraint of his jeans. Stephanie, adjusting her weight on him, looked down briefly and managed to unzip his fly and open his jeans. Sam whimpered at the relief and leaned his head back hard against the cold window. She took his cock out and wrapped her small hand firmly around him. He gasped as she found her way back to his lips for a quick kiss before moving again to his neck. He felt wet pressure as she bit firmly along his neck, sucking and nipping, hand still pumping slowly. He moaned softly underneath her.

The way she held him was different from Dean. He was too drunk to recognized how fucked up it was to be comparing them, but her hands were smaller, not quite grasping tight enough. Still felt good but, just different.

Sam heard giggling from the front seat. He opened his eyes, looking over to see Veronica smiling, eyes closed tight. Dean propped over her, one hand cupping her breast over her top.

Stephanie pulled up Sam’s shirt and his abs fluttered, exposed to the chilled air. She pulled herself away from his neck and shoved her tongue fast and wet into his mouth. He hardly had time to realize what was happening before she pulled away again. Grabbing her hair and throwing it to the side, she smiled at him and started kissing down his chest.

She traced swirling patterns with her tongue, trailing her way to his nipple, sucking and biting, pulling carefully with her teeth and blowing cool air around it. Sam shivered, goosebumps raising the hair on his arms. He gasped and moved opening his legs wider as she continued to stroke his dick.

The car jilted and Sam opened his eyes to find Dean stripping his shirt and Veronica scrambling to join him. As she sat up, Dean reached around and unclasped her bra. Sam watched as his brother pushed it aside and quickly dipped his tongue, licking around her exposed breast. Fuck, Sam was so hard, the pressure on his cock only a teasing reminder but doing nothing to give him relief.

Stephanie lifted her head demanding, “Sit up a bit, yeah?”

Pausing a moment, not understanding the words, Sam scooted himself back more properly seated against the window. Stephanie went the opposite direction. “Oh,” Sam breathed faintly.

Stephanie smiled. “Oh,” She parroted before Sam saw the pink of her tongue slip out and lick around the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Sam swore, not pulling his eyes from her head slowly bobbing around his dick. Sam shuddered, thinking that maybe he finally understood why his brother always tried to get laid.

Veronica moaned in the seat next to him. Sam moved his eyes from Stephanie to see Veronica’s shoulders push against the door, breasts exposed. Jesus, Dean had his head tucked between her legs now, skirt pushed up to her waist. Fuck, anyone walking by would be getting a show. Dean bowed and bobbed his head several times. And Sam watched. Sam couldn’t pull his eyes away. Dean lifted his head and maneuvered himself, kneeling between her legs. Mouth wet, glistening, and with his eyes dark he met Sam’s. Dean turned towards him to fully take in what was happening, eyes roaming salaciously over the indecency Stephanie was performing on Sam with her tongue. Dean unconsciously licked his own plumped lips  and turned slightly, meeting Sam’s eyes again. Sam shivered but couldn’t bring himself to look away, held in a trance by his brothers stare. He was shaking.

There was a small nagging part of his mind warning him this  _wasn’t_  something they should do, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. God, he couldn’t remember feeling this good.

Stephanie tightened her lips and hummed around his cock and his mouth fell open, gasping as pleasure vibrated through him. But Sam continued to watch as Dean turned away, roughly handling Veronica, pulling at her hips where he wanted her. She laughed quietly and slid down the seat.

Sam’s eyes grew wide as he realized what his brother was about to do. He watched as Dean tugged roughly at his belt and slid off his jeans. Sam’s heart began to pound. It’s not like this was the first time he’d seen his brother hard. But he was entirely naked now, sweat glinting on his skin, and this was just fucking obscene. He knew he was staring but Sam couldn’t take his eyes off Dean’s dick as he rolled on a condom, jutted out and dark, all while Stephanie increased her pace, licking base to tip, twisting at the top. Pressure finally just right.

Giving in, eyes fluttering shut, he could feel the familiar warmth build, his temperature rising. Veronica made a giddy squeal from the front seat and he blinked opened to find his brother positioned over her, leaning down meeting her lips. Jesus, Dean really was going to fuck her. Right here. Shit. Despite his better judgement Sam couldn’t bring himself to look away. It was fucked up. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This wasn’t something they did. But he didn’t stop. He watched as Dean positioned himself before finally sinking into her, wincing around the warm heat of her body.

Sam was shaking, he was close and Stephanie wasn’t stopping. Breathing hard, Sam’s hair now soaked in sweat, shirt pushed up high, he was thoroughly debauched. And fuck, now Dean was grunting and the car was shaking and moving with his thrusts. His brother’s head bowed down in a sacrilegious prayer, arms moving in ways Sam had only seen flex for training. His hips were low, ass was out, and he was panting along with Veronica, whose breasts moved with every frantic thrust. She had her own hand snaked, moving between her legs.

And then Dean looked up. Eyes dark. Watching Sam as they were both on the brink. His heart fluttered, adrenaline pulsing through his blood. They weren’t supposed to look, not  _now_. There were  _rules_. There had always been rules.

Sam bit his lip as he felt the frenzied pressure build. He reached a hand down to warn Stephanie but she just hummed, pleasure resonating through him. Sam’s legs trembled, stiffening near pain, and he bit back the name on his lips. Moaning indecently, he came hard in her mouth never for a moment taking his eyes from his brother’s carnal glare.

Dean rocked and thrust unevenly, gasping breathless, “Fuck, Sam.” And with his shoulders shuddering he finally broke their gaze. He again bowed his head to Veronica’s shoulder. The measured rocking of the car calming considerably as Dean slowed, breathing heavy.

Sam clenched his eyes closed and savored the soft puffing breathes of his brother. His own heart steadied slowly following the distracting pressure of Stephanie’s weight on his thighs as she pulled herself from his lap. Removed from his reverie, he opened in time to catch her smile. Question on her lips, she was silenced as Sam lured her toward him. Hands anchoring the base of her skull, he licked languidly into her mouth, surprised to find the taste himself on her tongue. He sighed, licking slowly into her mouth, reveling in the profanity of the act.

“That’s kind of hot,” Veronica leered.  
  
Sam turned to find her watching them, bra refastened. She lifted an eyebrow at his pants, open. Sam looked down, heat flooded warming his cheeks, he quickly tucked himself in. He straightened his shirt then stole a hurried glimpse at his brother who had slid back into his jeans and was pulling on his own shirt.    

Sam brought his sheepish gaze back to Stephanie. She pecked at his lips and said, “Happy belated birthday, Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “cranked to eleven” is a reference to This Is Spinal Tap (1984)


	8. Chapter 8

Dean woke to blinding light seeping through heavy open curtains. Shifting, attempting to turn on his side. He groaned, aching tense muscles protesting as he tried to get them to work. Blinking, Dean opened his eyes to find himself on the couch in Bobby’s living room. And just how the fuck he got here he wasn’t sure. He panicked briefly trying to remember, and where the hell was Sam?

Sam.  _Shit._  Clenching his jaw, Dean took a deep breath. Fuck. He remembered now. Veronica. Stephanie.  _Sam._

Head pounding as he moved to sit, his memory providing flashes of the previous evening. What the fuck was he thinking? What the  _hell_  was wrong with him? He breathed fast and hard. This was his fucking brother. His  _kid_  brother. Christ, he was  _still_  a kid. But Dean remembered the way Sam writhed wantonly in the back seat and it sent a shiver straight to his dick.

Something was wrong here. He laughed mournfully.  _Obviously_  something was fucking wrong here, he wanted to fuck his brother. He hadn’t had  _that_  much to drink last night so that excuse was out the goddamn window. He knew better than this.

Dean stood from the couch and with the floor creaking he made his way to the kitchen. He ran cold water to splash on his face and held his arms out, bracing on the sink. Then it hit him. He was fucking cursed. That’s what this was. He knew it now. He was certain. You don’t go from innocent brothers, best friends, to object number one of incestuous obsessions.

Incest. This was fucking incest. People like  _Dean_  didn’t have incestuous thoughts. He was a goddamn hunter. Only fucked in the head, screwed up beyond all realms of sanity,  _victims_  had incestuous thoughts. Dean’s stomach lurched and he immediately rushed to the bathroom making it just in time to retch into the toilet.

This was a curse. This was a that fucking spell the witch cast. The bitch knew this would happen. She knew that Sam and Dad would turn back. They were just a goddamn misdirection for the real fucking problem, this infection growing, festering worse every fucking day. This is that bitch’s fault. Chest heaving, the warm stinging heat behind his eyes broke. He didn’t care anymore.

Last night he couldn’t believe what was happening between his brother and Stephanie. As soon as she pushed him into the car Dean knew what was going down. Well,  _who_  was going down, at any rate. He expected Sam to leave the car, awkwardly dismiss himself from the whole damn thing. Sam was always so intimidated by women. But to Dean’s surprise he didn’t. He stayed. He stayed and he let Stephanie suck him off and Dean had to watch. He  _had_  to. He needed to see.

Dean’s heart nearly beat through his chest when he crawled into the car after Veronica. Stephanie got to bite Sam’s neck. She got to taste his lips. Feel him throb in her hand, which Dean remembered so well and why the hell didn’t he pay attention last time? He should have savored it. Dean wanted to throw Stephanie from the car and climb onto his brother himself. And it was fucking wrong and he  _couldn’t_ do it and it hurt.

It was this fucking curse.

He stood, shuffling to the sink and rinsed his mouth out. Dean shook his head darkly. Bags dark under red eyes. Jesus. He forced his mind a complete blank and quickly took a shower. The only thought he allowed to pass was that he was going to look through every book in Bobby’s house to find a way to cure this.

Stepping from the shower he realized all his clean clothes were upstairs where Sam sleeping. Steeling his nerves he walked up the stairs with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Sam was asleep on his small bed, feet sticking out the end, puffing soft even breaths. Dean forced himself to turn his back on his brother. He dug in his duffel grabbing clean clothes. Without thinking he dropped his towel bending to put on his boxers.

He heard a moan on the bed and a hoarse voice groaned, “Put some fuckin’ clothes on, dude.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Dean froze. Heart stopped.  _Fuck._  That’s  _not_  what he meant. It just fucking slipped out! A hot blush starting on his chest swelled quickly to his face, he began to sweat. Slowly, he finished stepping into his boxers, pulling them up. What the hell was wrong with him? Why would he say that? It was an innocent quip. He didn’t  _mean_  anything. He was just used to saying stupid shit to Sam.

Dean held his breath waiting for Sam to respond. His back still to Sam, too cowardly to turn and face him. Dean exhaled, “Sam… I-” he stammered, “That’s not-”  
  
Shaking, Dean dared turn, eyeing Sam as he laid on the bed staring paralyzed at the ceiling.

Dean couldn’t be here. He had to- he couldn’t stay.

Holding his clothes tight to his chest, Dean left the room and bounded down the stairs. In the kitchen he hastily threw on clothes, shirt probably inside out. He had to leave. Toeing his shoes on sans socks, Dean rushed out the door. Where the fuck he was going, he didn’t know. He just couldn’t be  _here._   

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam woke to soft scratching noises in the room. His head fucking hurt. Pounding blood rushing through. The sun shone warm on him, dimmed only slightly filtering through dusty curtains. He blinked to see his brother’s back to him, hand clenching tight at a small white towel around his waist.

Then it dropped.

It dropped and Sam spoke. And Dean froze. And Sam remembered.

And Dean ran.

Sam tried to even his breaths. Last night was fuzzy at best but he remembered. He remembered the car. He remembered Stephanie. He remembered Dean fucking Veronica in the front seat.

His heart was racing and his head was throbbing and he just wanted to go the hell back to sleep. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. Or ever. Did that really happen last night?

Sam felt like shit. He didn’t even know her, not really. And yeah she was nice enough and christ his first blow job was a hell of an experience, but that’s not really how he wanted it to happen. At the very least he was hoping to be a bit more sober or to maybe know the girl.

He had grown so used to drinking in John’s body that he hadn’t thought much of how  _his_  would react. And yeah, Dean was right, he was a bit of a lightweight. So, why didn’t he cut him off? Sam closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

That whole fucking night. Jesus. He rubbed his eyes and moved his hand to apply pressure on his head. He needed an ice pack and about half a bottle of aspirin.

Sam tried to ignore the nagging image of his brother thrusting into Veronica right next to him. After the girls left, the impala reeked of sweat and sex and suddenly Sam wasn’t having fun anymore. He felt sick and he just wanted to get home and pass the hell out. So that’s what he did.

He vaguely remembered Stephanie tucking her phone number into his pocket before she left. Sam shut his eyes tight. He didn’t really want to see her again but he couldn’t just leave it like that. He wasn’t  _Dean._  He wasn’t going to do that to her. He at least owed her a proper explanation. An apology probably.

Sam heard the roar of the Impala’s engine. He scoffed to himself as he recognized the familiar sound of Dean leaving.

He had bolted. He was freaking the fuck out.

Sam let his mind briefly focus back on the previous night. They probably shouldn’t have done that. Sam knows that. He  _knows_. But really what was the big deal? It’s not like it was much different than the other things they’d been doing together. It’s not like that was the first time Sam had heard his brother like that. Or the first time he’d seen him like that. Jesus, they had been getting each other off for months now and listening to each other for years. What the hell was Dean’s problem?

It always started like this. Something changed between them and Dean ran. Angry, Sam shook his head and pursed his lips. Dean was such a fucking baby.

Eventually, Sam pulled himself from the bed, willing himself to make a half ass attempt at showering. After, he searched desperately through Bobby’s drawers in hopes of finding a painkiller which, thank god, he succeeded in doing.

Sam spent his day lounging around Bobby’s house, paging through books, raiding the fridge (making mental notes of what to replace). He was interrupted a few times by ringing calls of other hunters asking, “Where’s Bobby?”, “Who the hell are you?”, “What the fuck do you mean I’m hunting a banshee?”

Sam did his best to help them and waited, annoyed, for his brother to return. Sam figured it was going to be a few days until Dean would look him in the eyes again. But Sam was bored and he wanted to hit the grocery store to stock up for the week. So he waited. Dean would be back eventually.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Several days passed and Dean did his best to stay the hell away from Sam. And Sam seemed relatively accepting of it. They exchanged few words, more and more as the week wore on. Dean honestly couldn’t give a fuck about it. He had a mission.

When he was feeling the itch, knowing his mind wanted to think about Sam in  _those_  ways, Dean would take off. He hid several books in the Impala and drove. He’d head out on a gravel road to the privacy of the country, or the mall parking lot, or hell even a library, anywhere he felt was far enough away from his brother. He’d read until his eyes were bloodshot, the answer always exceeding his grasp.

He knew Sam was suspicious of him. He had tried to join Dean on several occasions, “Dean I’m so bored here, dude. Where do you keep going? You meeting up with Veronica?”

“Just getting fresh air, Sam,” he looked down, tired, playing with the keys in his hands.

“Well, can you, I don’t know. Will you drop me off at the mall at least? I’m going crazy here, man.”

Dean nodded, “Sure, Sam.” Sam shook his head, angry. Dean knew Sam was pissed that he wouldn’t let him come but that was just too fucking bad.

Dean needed to find a cure or something that could help. Anything. And after this was gone, after this stupid, miserable curse was lifted,  _then_  he’d make it up to Sam. He’d atone for all the abhorrent thoughts passing through his mind.  

But Dean was having little luck. Days passed and nothing. It hadn’t even occurred to him to be worried about John who hadn’t contacted them since he left. He expected that from his dad but when he realized that not even Bobby had called, he started to worry.

One evening, looking through more books in the living room Dean finally asked, “Sam, you haven’t heard from Dad have you? It’s been a while and-”

Sam scoffed as he worked sharpening a knife.

“What?” Dean shook his head, “What’s that mean?”

“Yep,” Sam replied coldly not lifting his head from his work.

“‘Yep?’” Dean shook his head, “‘Yep,’ what? ‘Yep,’ you heard from them?”

“Yep,” he answered dryly.

Dean scoffed, “Okay, and?”

“They’re fine.”

“‘They’re fine’?” He asked. “‘They’re fine.’ Jesus, Sam, you could have at least told me they called.”

Sam lifted the knife, holding it into the light to examine his work, “Maybe if you were here for more than five minutes you’d know.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and shook his head, “You know, fuck you, Sam.”

Sam laughed sarcastically, “Okay. Whatever, Dean.”

Dean stood up from the couch, “What the hell is your problem, Sam?”

Laughing, Sam finally met Dean’s eyes, “ _My_  problem? Dean, you’re the one going completely psycho. Why don’t you tell me what the hell  _your_  problem is?”

“ _I_  don’t have a problem,” Dean denied.

Sam huffed and looked back to his knife, “Well, we both know that’s not quite true.”

“You know, Sam, maybe  _you’re_  my fucking problem. Maybe I’m twenty fucking one years old and I want to go out and do something without my little brother tagging along like a lost puppy all the time.”

Sam stopped working and lifted his head. Coolly he smirked, “Yeah. You’re right, Dean. We both know  _I’m_  the problem all right, but it’s not quite me ‘tagging along’ that’s the problem is it?”

Dean’s heart beat fast, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam stood from his chair and walked over to Dean, “You  _know_  what the hell that means.”

His brother was leaning in towards him. Sam was getting so tall these days. Taller than Dean, though he’d never admit it. And Sam knew how to use his height. Dean searched his eyes. It was the first time he’d really looked at him since the night in the car.

Sam’s eyes narrowed, seething and his shoulders were tense. “Dean, you do this  _every_  time,” he said calm but cold.

Dean’s eyes fell to his brother’s lips and he licked his own unconsciously. He’d just need to lean in, just a little. Sam was right there and Dean’s heart fluttered, “What do I do, Sam?”

Sam bit his lip and turned away, looking out the window. He shrugged, “Every. Time. You freak out, every time. Just,” he sighed. “Just, get over it, okay?”

“Get over it?”

He turned back nodding, “The fucking car, Dean.”

Dean clenched his jaw tight. His stomach flipped and he wanted desperately to flee. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t talk to Sam about this. Not while he was still looking for a cure to whatever the hell was making him feel this way.

Sam, sensing his intentions to break for it, reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “Dean, it’s okay. Okay?”

He breathed hard from his nose, fighting against the urge to run. “Sam,” he pleaded somehow finding the courage to look at him. Sam’s hands were warm on his shoulders and he wanted so desperately for Sam to pull him close the way he did Stephanie. “I-” he started.

The phone rang causing him to jump.

Sam eyed him carefully, “Okay?”

Dean closed his eyes and nodded.

Sam patted his shoulder and walked over to answer the phone. He spoke confidently, “Singer Auto.”

It was Bobby’s personal line. Dean bit his lip and watched his brother grab a scrap of paper.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam spoke. “Wait wait, but everyone is okay, right? Dad is-”

Dean tensed and walked over. He gave Sam a concerned look and Sam waved him off.

“Okay, yeah I got it right here,” Sam held a pen and waited for instructions.

“Babies? Newborns and pregnant women?” His hand scratched words across the paper. “Can shift shapes but not a shapeshifter? Right.” Sam bit his lip in concentration. He huffed, “Wait- what?”

Dean leaned closer, trying to hear what Bobby was telling him.

“What? That doesn’t even- Okay. Yes. Obviously, if we’d heard of it you wouldn’t be asking. Sorry,” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes to Dean. He bit his lip again focusing on Bobby’s description. Shaking his head he began to write, “Flying entrails… got it.” Sam scratched his head. “We’ll look through everything you have. By the desk? Okay.” He sighed, “Yeah, Bobby, take care.” Sam hung up the phone. He eyed Dean carefully.

“Everything okay?”

Sam walked over to Bobby’s desk and looked around behind it. “I guess. No one is hurt. Well, I mean, Dad, Jim, and Bobby aren’t hurt.”

“So, you gonna tell me what’s been going on?”

Sam huffed pulling out an oversized book and slamming it on the table. He grabbed several more from the corner tucked to the side. “It’s not a shtriga,” he said.

“If it’s not a shtriga then what is it?”

“That’s what we get to find out. Flying entrails, shape-shifting babyeater.”

“That’s disgusting,” Dean frowned. He walked carefully towards his brother and picked up one of the books.“I could- I could go out there and help them. If they’re having trouble-”

Sam sighed, sitting at Bobby’s desk he flipped open a book. “This isn’t a manpower hunt as much as it is pinpointing what the hell they’re after now. Bobby said they’re gonna give us a couple days while they research there. If we can’t figure it out they’re coming back to check for themselves.” Sam looked up from the book, “So if you want to help, then find our babyeater.” He pursed his lips and looked back down speaking into the book, “‘Course you could always run away since you’re good at that too.”

Dean furrow his brow but otherwise didn’t comment. Grabbing his book, he fell back into the couch and started flipping through the pages.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam had put up with just about enough of his brother’s shit as he was going to take. Dean left Sam alone at Bobby’s most of the time and when Dean  _was_  home he moped around and barely grunted a hello, which is all what Sam had expected. When he finally confronted his brother, Dean reluctantly seemed to come around. He stayed home at any rate. Maybe it was the case but either way he was talking to Sam again.

They read through Bobby’s books starting in the pile that Bobby indicated. Sam’s eyes burned trying to find anything that could transform shape. Anything that ate children. It was gruesome, vivid pictures painting the pages above walls of the text. But nothing fit.

Two days had past and neither Sam or Dean had made any headway. John called to check in, suddenly concerned since a hunt and lives were at stake. John told them if they didn’t find anything by morning, he and Bobby’ would be driving back with Pastor Jim staying behind as a defense.

They had exhausted all of the books Bobby had told them to read. All the books in english, that is. A small pile remained. Sam hated translating. It took forever and gave him a headache but that’s what was left now.

He cracked open the first one, gilded etchings decorating the cover. His first plan of attack was to look through the pictures. See if anything stood out that he could translate. He stared through the book, turning dusty page one after another. His neck was killing him. Flipping through the middle he saw it. A kind of dragony looking head with great big eyes and a human mouth with fangs. It’s tongue languorously dangling below sharp pointing teeth. What captured Sam’s attention were the long, dripping red, sinewy streaks extending beneath the form. Like guts. This looks like a flying head with guts.

“Dean?”

Laying on the couch, Dean tilted his book and looked to Sam, “Find something?”

“I think so. Do you have the translator for-” Sam flipped to the front page and thought for a moment before saying, “Indonesian?”

Dean sighed and sat up, “‘Course Sammy. Everyone who’s anyone carries their Indonesian/English translator around. Keep mine in my back pocket.”

Sam glared, “You had it, like, an hour ago for that art history book you were looking at, you jackass.”

“Oh,” Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile, “Right. I forgot.” He reached down to a small orange paperback and brought it to his brother. Studying over the page he grimaced, “Nasty lookin’ thing.”

Ignoring him Sam said, “The transcription here reads,  _Legenda di Bali. Ini adalah mitologi yang mencari leyak bentuk terbang di perut dengan kepala yang masih melekat._ ”

“And...  _that_  means?”

Sam flipped through the pages, “Hold on.” He leaned over the table and felt Dean brace himself on the back of his chair. He could feel the warmth of his brother’s chest against his back. Sam leaned back, pressure warm behind him. He heard Dean breathe next to his ear. “It’s the Legend of the Leyak,” Sam spoke turning his head attempting to look at his brother. He had to pull his head back slightly so as not to bump into Dean’s nose. Dean’s mouth relaxed, open slightly. Sam’s heart began to increase, growing patters thumping in his chest.

“Um,” Sam’s eyes caught Dean’s. Dean who was looking at him through a heavy lidded haze. It reminded him instantly of how Dean looked at him when they were in the car with the girls. Sam’s dick twitched at the memory. His eyes fell to his brother’s dewy lips. “Uh,” Sam shook his head and turned away quickly. He could feel the back of his neck warm, and he willed his blush away.  

Coughing, he abruptly flipped through the orange translating book. Sam pointed, “Here. This… this mean’s ‘entrails’ and this word is-” Sam studied the page, flipping through finding it’s match, “Flying!” He smiled. “Flying entrails! Okay, I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”

He felt Dean kneel next to him, reach an arm to point at the ancient text. “What’s this one mean?”

Sam found the word in his book, “Honey.” He furrowed his brow, “No wait it says it also- Dean! It says ‘baby.’ Baby’s blood!   
  
“Calm down there, Hannibal Lecter.”  
  
“This  _has_  to be it, Dean.” Sam flipped back through his orange book to pull more words from the text, “Flying head. Baby’s blood. Pregnant! Animals. Dean, it says it shifts into animals. This is it. Okay. Alright, now we just need to translate it all in order.”

Dean laughed softly. Sam turned his head meeting Dean’s eyes. His heart jumped at the way Dean was looking at him. “You did it, Sammy,” Dean let a small smile loose.

Sam smiled back. Dean was still leaning in so close to him. Without much conviction he whispered back, “Not Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Dean licked his bottom lip and softly replied, “I know.”

Sam’s eyes grew large. Dean seemed to be leaning into him. His lips were so close, he could feel hurried puffs of air breathing between them. Just as Sam was about to close the space, Dean stood up.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, “Better get to translating, kiddo.” Dean punched his shoulder and walked away into the kitchen.

What the fuck was that? Sam panicked staring after his brother as he retreated. Sam almost  _kissed_  him. He almost kissed Dean. What the hell was he thinking?

Sam quickly dropped his gaze to the book in front of him. He started methodically picking out words, one-by-one, writing down their meanings in english. Only half paying attention to what he was doing, Sam rationalized that was just left over from Stephanie. The last time someone had been that close to him they had been making out for what seemed, through hazy memory, to be hours. It was just muscle memory making him lean in.

He shook his head. Whatever. It wasn’t important. He needed to figure out the translation.

Sam worked diligently, pushing all thoughts of Dean aside. He didn’t even notice when his brother returned, sliding him a plate with a grilled cheese on it.

“Hell yeah,” Sam looked up smiling. “Anything to drink?” Dean gave him an annoyed look but brought his hand out to reveal a can of Coke. Wrapping his lips around the sandwich Sam mumbled, “Best Dean.”

“I’m the best?” Dean scoffed, “Yeah, well, don’t you forget it.” He swallowed awkwardly and pointed towards Sam’s notes. Sam pushed them towards him and Dean read over the translation, “So, this leyak, shape shifts into animals, appears normal human in the day and transforms into a rage ball of blood sucking guts at night? Nice.” Dean scratched his face and kept reading, “They haunt graveyards and corpses and pregnant women? Weird combination but whatever. Okay, so how do we gank them?”

Sam swallowed and said, “The lore says leyaks were humans that practiced black magic and cannibalism.”

“Not witches again. I’m so sick of damn witches.”

Sam smiled, “Well, they’re not  _human_  witches. Not anymore at least.”

“Okay, so again I ask, how we gonna kill it?”

“Alright, so from what I’ve found it can only be killed in it’s human form. But when it’s human it’s entirely undetectable. Doesn’t matter what you do, nothing will pick up anything wrong with them. Nothing but this spell.” Sam slid the book over to Dean and pointed at the page, “This is directly related to witchcraft but more specifically, being an Indonesian spell, after this spell is performed it will glow with this weird kind of aura around the leyak.”

Dean nodded, “Okay, so what kills it?”

“Killing it is easy but you need a binding spell to keep it from shifting out of human form. Then it’s your traditional beheading. Easy.”

Dean smiled, “Good work, Sam.”

Sam beamed, “The spell is really interesting too. It’s all these pretty common ingredients. Most of them are used as spices now. But you mix them the right way, make it into a drink, and after a few minutes you get this crazy witch vision. Anything affected by witchcraft glows it’s own color depending on the influence. Finding the damn thing is the hard part.”

“Wait. What did you say?” Dean crossed his arms and fixed intently on Sam.

Annoyed he asked, “Do you  _ever_  hear  _anything_  I say? Like, just tune in for five minutes dude, is that so hard?”

“Sam,” Dean glared. “I heard what you said! Just- I need you to clarify. This spell,” Dean tapped his finger hard on the book. “This spell will show you everything,  _anything_ , that is under the influence of a spell? A curse? Anything?”

Confused at Dean’s sudden intense interest, Sam nodded, “Yeah, Dean. Spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, whatever you want to call it. It just needs to be something altered magically by a human or something that was once a human.”

Dean grabbed the old book from the desk and the orange translator. “You’ve been working too hard, Sam. I’ll translate the spell. You deserve a break.”

Sam shook his head, “Okay?” He continued to eat his sandwich. It was more than a little suspicious that Dean was interested in taking over the research, especially translating, but Sam was gonna take it. He needed a break. His back was killing from sitting too long and his head ached from staring at books. Sam offered to call Dad to let them know what they’re dealing with. Until Dean figured out the spell it would be good for them to at least know what they were up against.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean’s throat constricted tight with nerves. When Sam told him they had knowledge of how to detect magic, Dean’s stomach dropped. This was the break he was looking for. It was a start at least. Once he knew for sure that he was cursed he’d be able to find out what the hell he needed to do to fix it. He couldn’t believe it took him so long to figure out that this weird new change going on in his life was caused by that bitch and her goddamn last fighting blow.

Sam had called right away to inform John what they were facing. When Dean translated the spell, and had Sam double and triple check it, he went hunting for ingredients. This was another spell that needed to be mixed and left alone for a few days. The longer it was left alone the longer the vision would stay in your system. Dean wouldn’t need it for long. Just to check himself out in the mirror or to look at his arms. He just needed a quick look. But he was going to let it sit for at least a day.

The ingredients weren’t hard to track down. Sam was right,  _most_  of them were spices, and a few other things he was able to find around Bobby’s house. Dean had to wait until the ethnic market opened for less common ingredients. There were a few they were sold out of but they assured Dean they’d be back in stock shortly, he just needed to check back.

So it was good. This was a good step. He was feeling better. Once he was certain beyond all doubt that this is what was happening to him he’d feel more confident about getting help. He’d call Michelle. If he did enough begging he was sure she’d help him. She helped Sam. But he needed to be absolutely positive before going to anyone.

In the mean time, his anxiety was high but he was optimistic. He was feeling the most comfortable that he’d been in while around Sam. And Sam seemed to respond well to it. Dean could joke and banter with him again without worrying about Sam finding anything out about his present circumstance.

That didn’t mean his feelings for his brother had diminished, however. It just meant now he could deal with it. There was a light at the end of this godforsaken tunnel.

So, to kill time, he and Sam began exploring all the old, scrapped cars in the yard. Dean found an ancient, hideous wooden paneled El Camino. He brought Sam to it immediately, laughing at the sight of it.

The doors were nearly rusted shut but Dean managed to pry them open. He crawled in through the driver’s side, sliding over as Sam followed behind. Everything had a thick layer of dust and dirt. But the sun was shining in creating an orange glow and each day grew warmer. Summer was close.

Dean kicked his legs up on the seat, dropping them heavily onto Sam’s sitting lap. Sam groaned at the unexpected weight and Dean chuckled at him. Curious, Dean opened the glove box. Several old magazines fell to the floor. He picked one up and smiled. “Ha, jackpot!” Vintage  _Playboy_. He laughed and threw one at Sam.

“What is- oh,” Sam held it up, centerfold falling open. He cocked his head to the side studying, “When did they start doing implants?” He asked Dean.

Dean, leafing through one of the several that had fallen to the floor hummed in response.

“Boob jobs,” Sam stated. “There’s no way these are real, right?”

Dean lifted his eyes to look at the magazine Sam held. Dean smirked, “I dunno, Sam. Look pretty real to me.”

“They’re huge.”

“‘They’re huge?’” Dean shook his head smiling. Sarcastically he quipped, “What are you twelve? I know for a fact you’ve seen boobs before, man.”

“No, dude. I mean, proportionately. It’s weird, right? Like, here look. Look at the size of her waist. She’s way too skinny and her boobs are huge. Like, freakishly huge especially for- what is this? Late 60s? The 70s?”

Dean stared seriously at the centerfold then back to Sam. Deadpanning he spoke, “You look at  _that,_ that perfect specimen of a voluptuous woman, you see  _that_  and in that freak brain of yours your biggest concern is her waist to tit ratio?” Dean shook his head, “You’re doin’ it wrong, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean sat up to get a better view studying closer, “I can tell you one thing, she ain’t a natural blonde, that’s for damn sure.”

Sam looked back considering it again. He shrugged and threw it to the floor of the car.

Eyeing him carefully, Dean laid back resting his head against the window. He couldn’t bring his attention back to the magazine. They were a bit too tasteful for his liking anyway. The old shit was art, not porn, but he continued to hold his magazine up, pretending to look as he watched over to Sam.

Sam rubbed his thumb against Dean’s shin, tapping in a jaded rhythm.

Dean started to wonder how many girls his brother had hooked up with in his life. He was fairly certain Sam was still a virgin. The night with Stephanie was probably the most action he’d seen, but goddamn, the way he took charge when he kissed her. Sweet innocent little Sammy, so unsure and awkward around women. Dean had never seen that side of him before. Nothing about it was virginal and sweet. It was disturbing, and carnal, and fucking hot. And it made Dean wonder else he didn’t know about his kid brother.

Thinking about Sam in that context probably wasn’t the best idea. His mind clouded a little and he felt blood rush to down, swelling slowly. Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Dean closed his eyes and tried breathing deep, willing the semi he was sporting to go the hell away.

But Sam shifted an arm and it grazed him. Dean gasped quietly and looked at Sam, scared.

He was looking down at his pants, erection starting to show. Sam looked up to Dean and Dean blushed. He cursed himself internally. What the hell was wrong with him? Sam had seen him like this a hundred times. He literally heard Dean beg him, whine at him,  _Just help me out here, man. I haven’t gotten laid in, like, two weeks._

Timidly, he glimpsed at Sam. Sam lifted an eyebrow, “You want me to-” The question hung in the air.

Yes. Yes he did. He wanted Sam wrap his strong hands on his dick and stroke him fully hard until he got on his knees and start blowing him. And then Dean wanted to force his brother up, rough, grabbing tight to his hair and shove his tongue down his throat.

But he said nothing.

Sam started moving his hand towards his zipper. When Dean felt the pressure as Sam began to unzip he rushed his hands down to stop him, “No, Sam.”

Sam lifted his hand confused, “No?”

“Sam,” Dean whined. Whined for an entirely different reason than usual, “Just. No.”

Sam shook his head, “Come on, Dean.” He lowered his hand, placing it on Dean’s thigh, which he didn’t fail to notice was close to his dick. “It’s been, like, god, I don’t know? Like two months or something. Before the spell.”

Dean’s heart beat dangerously under his chest. He could hear the blood pumping. He was certain Sam could tell how much this was affecting him. Could hear his heart trying to escape, thumping in strong beats through his skull, “No, Sam.”

His brother looked down to his lap, “That doesn’t look like a ‘no’ to me.” Sam shifted his body and Dean could tell, now  _Sam_  was getting hard.

Closing his eyes he tried to collect his thoughts. “Sam, I know it seems-”

“Dude,  _what_  is your problem?” Sam interrupted. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I got my body back. What the hell, Dean?”

“Sam, it’s not-” He closed his eyes, “I’ve just been thinking-”

“You’ve been thinking?”

Christ, it felt like he was breaking up with his fucking brother. It had to stop. Clearing his throat, Dean spoke softly, “Sam, you know we shouldn’t be doing it. You  _know_  that.”

Confused, he shook his head, “Since when did you start caring about that?”

“Since, since-” he stammered. “Since, I don’t fucking know! Since the body swap, I guess. If Dad finds out-”

“Dad’s not gonna find out,” Sam insisted.

“Jesus, Sam!” Dean he sneered. “Will you just listen to yourself! Just think about what the hell you’re saying. Do you know how fucked up you sound?” Dean struggled weakly, trying to remove his legs from his brother lap.

“No, Dean,” Sam held his legs firmly in place, holding him to the spot. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re talking about this.”

Dean breathed deep, covering his face with his hands, shaking, “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’m not jacking you off. I’m just done, okay? Go call Stephanie.”

“I don’t want to call Stephanie!” Sam narrowed his eyes, “Is this why you’ve been acting like such a jerk? So, what? After all this fucking around you suddenly decided you don’t want to take the chance of getting caught?  _That’s_  what this is?”

Dean clenched his jaw and looked away from his brother out the window.

“Oh, now you can’t even talk to me?”

Still not making eye contact, Dean stated calmly, “This has just gone on long enough, Sam. We’re too old to be doing this shit. Find a girlfriend, man.”

Sam scoffed, “Dude, you are putting way too much thought into this. You were the one that told me, ‘don’t overthink it’. Dean,  _you_  like it. I know you do.  _I_  like it. And it’s not like we’re actually fucking or anything. So who cares? With how we live, you know it’s a hell of a lot easier than going out and getting laid.”

 _It’s not like we’re fucking,_ echoed through his head. Dean kept his head turned to the side, not daring to look at his brother. He couldn’t. The welling fear was bubbling to the surface and all he wanted to do was to get out of the fucking car. But he knew they had to have this conversation. They had to stop it. And the sooner they were done talking about it the faster he could move on.

Sam would get over his whiny, bratty tantrum and Dean would find a cure and they would move on.

With a tone of finality Dean stated, “I’m done, Sam.”

Sam shook his head, fuming, and shoved Dean’s legs off of him. He threw himself out the door, slamming it hard behind, shaking the car as he left.

 

 

* * *

 

  

When Sam slammed the door to Bobby’s he stomped straight to his duffel bag. He found the scrap piece of paper with Stephanie’s number on it. Dean wanted him to call her? Fine. He’d call her. When his brother eventually came back, tail between his legs, Sam wasn’t going to be there. Dean can go fuck himself.

Grabbing the paper and going to the phone, Sam took a minute to calm himself before dialing the number. It rang, sharp warbling shrieks on the other end.

“Hello?” A small voice answered.

“Hey, Stephanie?” Sam’s voice light, an act, not properly displaying his current emotion.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, this is Sam.”

“Sam?” She asked, “Sam? I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“From the bar,” Sam shook his head. “Sam, from the bar.”

“Oh,” she realized. “Right. Sam from the bar.” She laughed nervously, “And Sam from the  _car_.”

He bit his lip, “Yeah, that’s the one. Uh, I just wanted to apologize. I would have called sooner but we had a family emergency come up and-”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Yeah, it’s fine now. But anyway I just-” Sam swore quietly to himself. What the hell was he doing? “I was hoping, maybe I could see you again? Are you free? Tonight? Right now, maybe?”

Anxiously, Stephanie laughed quietly into the phone, “Sam, I don’t-” He could hear her breathe before she continued, “I was really  _really_  drunk that night.”

“Oh, no,” Sam quickly interrupted. “No, I’m not looking for-  _That’s_  not why I called.” Sam shut his eyes tight and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just, I don’t know, I felt bad for not calling because I meant to. And, I was just hoping to get out of here for a bit.”

“Well,” she paused. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Sam. You seem like a really nice guy. But, that night- I just found out my boyfriend cheated on me. I was really pissed and kind of on a mission, if you know what I mean?”

Sam smiled into the phone, “Uh, yeah. I remember.”

“Shit,” she swore, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to, like, attack you.”

“It’s okay, Stephanie, really.”

“Okay. So, well, anyway, it’s just really complicated with me right now. I’m not really looking for-”

“Hey, me either,” Sam interrupted sweetly. “I promise. I’ve just been cooped up for the last week straight and Dean’s driving me crazy. I was just hoping to get out of here for a while. I don’t really know anyone else in town, so I thought I’d see what you were doing.”

“Oh,” She replied. She let the conversation hang, pausing before saying adding, “Well, I don’t know.”

Sam laughed softly, “I don’t want to twist your arm or anything here. It’s okay if you don’t-”

“No,” she interrupted. “No, Sam. That sounds nice, actually. I could probably use a little time away from everything.”

Sam worried his lip nervously, “Yeah? Um, well, the other thing, Dean’s not gonna let me take the car, do you think you could-”

Stephanie laughed into the phone, “Yeah, Sam. I’ll pick you up. Where are you at?”

“Have you heard of Singer Auto Salvage? Junk yard on the edge of town.”

“What are you doing out  _there_?”

“A family friend owns it. We’re crashing at his place right now.”

“Oh, okay. Well, give me like half hour? Forty five minutes?”

“Sounds great,” Sam smiled.

Grabbing the credit card from Dean’s wallet, Sam walked out to the entrance of the lot. It was getting much nicer lately and he didn’t want to be trapped inside. Despite wanting to piss Dean off, he really  _hadn’t_  wanted to call Stephanie again. Not for more of what they did before. He was more than a bit relieved to hear that she wasn’t looking for that either.

She pulled up in a silver Grand Prix and Sam climbed in.

Stephanie eyed him suspiciously. “You are  _not_  twenty-one years old, kid,” she said flatly.

Sam bit his lip and lifted his eyebrows nervously, “Uh, not quite.”

“Not quite? Shit. How old are you?”

“More like eighteen,” he lied.

Stephanie shook her head, a smile slowly crept on her face. “I’m robbin’ the cradle here, man.”

Sam mirrored her smile, “Only a couple years off.”

She pulled her car into drive and drove them away from the junkyard. Shaking her head she teased, “You’re practically a baby.”

“I think I should feel insulted by that.”

Eyeing him from the corner of her eye she quipped, “Still hot though.” Smirking, she turned away and added, “I gotta say, wasted me has good taste.”

Sam laughed. “I’m kind of worried now, how much younger than you am I?”

Her smile grew. “I’m twenty two,” she winked.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Practically a grandma. You wanna swing by the police department? This was nearly statutory. Are you a predator? We should probably alert the media. I’m only thinking of the children here.”

She scoffed, “Yeah, yeah.” Shaking her head she added, “Smartass.” Sam laughed. She remarked, “That was the most I’ve heard you speak. You were practically mute in the bar.”

Sam looked out the window, watching buildings pass by, “What can I say? You got me out of my shell.”

“I got  _something_  out of it’s shell.” Sam’s face instantly flushed in embarrassment. “You’re a good kisser,” she added. Then turned and asked, “Was that your first blowjob?”

“Uh,” Sam twisted his head away, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly.

She chuckled, but said kindly, “Don’t be embarrassed, dude. I’m more than happy to provide you my service of defiling the youth of America.”

“We move around a lot,” Sam explained. “I just don’t really have a chance to get to know many girls.”

She nodded, considering. “I was seventeen before I even had my first kiss.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t sound so surprised. I wasn’t always a big slut bag.”

“You’re not a-”

“Sam, I’m joking, relax,” she shook her head. “I gotta ask though, what’s that deal with that friend of yours?”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Veronica is convinced he has a massive crush on you. Completely obsessed.”

Sam choked a laugh, “Dean’s my brother.”

Stephanie snapped her neck to him, “What?  _Brother?_  Seriously?”

He nodded, “Yeah, brother.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“‘Oh’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’.”

Sam looked out the window in thought. She was driving them around a residential area but he wasn’t paying much attention. Annoyed, he turned back, “No, what did you mean?”

She bit back a smirk, “Nothing. You seem like you two are  _really_  close. That’s all.”

Sam’s heart raced. He understood what she was implying. Legs bouncing he denied, “I don’t know what you think-”

“I don’t think anything, dude. Chill out.”

Sam shut his eyes. This car ride started fun but took a dive head first into a new kind of hell. How did they know? How did these two wasted girls pick up what he had with Dean. What the hell? If  _they_  had seen it and they’d only been around them a few hours what did people who saw them all the time think? Did Bobby know? Did  _Dad_? They hadn’t even done anything recently. And apparently nothing would be happening anytime soon. And even when they  _did,_  they were careful with that shit. But how had it been obvious that they had something hide?

He inhaled, calming himself before asking slowly, “What was it  _exactly_  that made Veronica think Dean had a crush on me?”

Stephanie chanced a look, innocent expression on her face, “Uh, I don’t know, man.”

Sam flashed her his best bitchface.

She lift her eyebrows and admitted quickly, “It’s how he looked at you.”

Furrowing his brow, he shook his head, “What do you mean ‘how he looks at me’?”

“The way he looked at you, I don’t know how to describe it. He didn’t take his eyes off you all night,” she shook her head, turning to look out the window. “And I mean  _all_  night. Even in the car. No,  _especially,_ in the car. I mean, I was a little busy at the time, but Veronica said it was like we were barely there, the way you two were together.”

Sam closed his eyes, “That was just-”

“He said your name when he came.”

Sam froze. He hadn’t remembered that but instantly when the words escaped her lips he knew it was true. The memory hit him in the face.

“I’m not judging here, man! You don’t owe me any explanations.”

Sam shook his head and defended, “No, you don’t understand. That was- Dean just- Okay, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I recently had a- a-,” he sighed, “A  _life altering_  experience.”

She lifted a hand in defense, “What you two do is your own-”

“No, listen. Like, a  _near death_  experience. Dean was freaking out that he was going to lose me. We both had been freaking out for a long time. So, whatever you guys thought you saw, however you  _thought_  he was looking at me, it was because of that. He thought he was going to lose me. We both thought that.” Sam quietly added, “We just recently found out that everything was okay.”

He looked at her with her hands firmly supported on the wheel she stared ahead. “I’m really sorry, man,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean-”

Sam interrupted, “No, it’s fine. It’s just, that’s why we were-  _if_  we were looking at each other weird, that’s why.” He laughed darkly, “It’s been a really screwed up couple of months.”

Sam looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set and Stephanie had taken them to some abandoned country road. She parked the car. It almost would have been romantic if they hadn’t just been talking about his brother having a crush on him. His heart was still racing.

“Was it cancer?” She asked quietly.

“Huh?”

“Did you have cancer?”

Sam shook his head, “Something like that.” He leaned his head back against the headrest, “I think this has been one of the weirdest car rides of my life. And I live on the road, so trust me, I’ve had some weird ones.”

Stephanie laughed and turned to look at him, “I  _am_  sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all that up for you again.”

Sam waved his hand, dismissing her concern. But he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. Dean had been looking at him in a way so obvious and suspicious that these two girls, and who the hell else, knew something fucked up was going on between them. And Dean had said  _Sam’s_  name. Sam couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his arms.

He hated to admit it but, maybe Dean was right. Maybe it was time to end it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playboy Liv Lindeland 1971 - her boobies are like... whoa dude


	10. Chapter 10

Dean was surprised to find that when he returned to Bobby’s house, long since dark, the lights were off. He had expected Sam to at least leave a light on but, whatever. Dean had raided a stash of beer and stayed in the depths of the junkyard all day. He found a few cars to tinker with and when it got too dark to see he laid down in the backseat of the Impala and listened to the radio.

But when he entered the house it only took a few minutes to realize something wasn’t right. It was too quiet. He quickly searched the house and found that Sam was gone.

Fighting to keep his mind from going to the Worst Case Scenario folder, Dean opened a beer and sat heavy on the couch. Sam was just out which Dean knew meant he probably called Stephanie and was blowing off steam.

Dean laughed to himself. He was sure  _something_  was getting blown off. And it made him mad. But, that’s what he told Sam to do. So, for now he’ll have to deal with it and this feeling would go away once the they figured out the spell.

He had the ingredients stashed, hidden away in one of the several nooks in Bobby’s house. Dean was planning on picking up the last of them on Monday and with any luck he’d be able to prepare the spell and figure this shit out all on the same day.

High beams flashed into the living room and Dean heard the rumble of a car outside. It didn’t take long for Sam to stumble in, smile on his face dropping as soon as he met Dean. He wore an odd expression and walked into the living room avoided Dean’s eyes.

“You with Stephanie?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking at the floor.

“She help that little problem of yours?” Dean asked bitterly.

Sam shrugged.

Dean nodded wiping his mouth, “I’m going to bed.” He stood and walked towards the stairs.

“Dean,” Sam breathed.

He stopped and glared as his brother, “I am  _not_  talking about this again, Sam, so if you-”

“No, Dean,” he interrupted. “I’ve been thinking about it and-” he shrugged, “I think you’re right.”

Dean turned away nodding. “Okay,” he said solemnly, “I’m going to bed.” Sam let him pass and slowly he climbed up the stairs to the little twin bed in their tiny shared room. It didn’t take long for Sam to follow, not speaking as he crawled into his own bed.

He wasn’t sure how long he was laying there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, not sleeping. And he knew Sam wasn’t either. Dean’s stomach was churning. This is what he wanted.  _He_ was the one that said they needed to stop. So why did it hit like a punch when Sam agreed?

Dean held his eyes closed tight and focused on evening his breaths. Slow and slower. Only concentrating on breathing. And eventually sleep was able to find him.

When he woke to birds squawking and light blinding, he looked over to see Sam gone. However, Dean found him soon, eating cereal at the table in the kitchen. Sam looked at him anxiously as Dean walked by and started a pot of coffee.  

Sam cleared his throat, “So, uh, Bobby called earlier.” Dean lifted an eyebrow and Sam continued, “They’re gonna do the spell soon. Bobby said if everything goes to plan they’ll probably be back by the end of the week.”

Dean nodded and threw a few pieces of bread into the toaster. He finished getting his breakfast ready and sat quietly at the table with Sam.

The next couple of days passed in similar awkward silence. Dean called the market daily to see if the ingredients were restocked. He finally got the answer he wanted and by Wednesday he had everything he needed.

With the spell prepared, all Dean needed was a quiet, private location and for Sam to fuck off. He finally got his opportunity when Sam told him he was going to the mall with Stephanie.

“Veronica’s gonna be there, if, you know, you wanted to meet up with her again.” Dean heard the implied tone. ‘Meet up’ meaning ‘hook up’.  _Sam_ was trying to get  _him_  laid. Dean hadn’t had sex since the night in the car. The mere thought of it immediately brought images of Sam to his mind. He quickly turned down the offer.

Sam left in Stephanie’s car soon after.

Dean had been on edge all day. This was it. He’d know for sure and he’d call Michelle and they’d figure it out. He had gone over, reread, prepared meticulously, covertly double checked with Sam, and felt confident that he wasn’t going to screw it up.

He had prepared the spell the day before, allowing it time to ensure it would work properly. Dean knew that meant that he was going to be seeing auras all day but it would be worth it.

Taking a deep breath, calming his trembling hands, Dean stood in front of the bathroom mirror holding the glass in front of his lips. He focused intently on his own tired eyes and threw back the potion.

Shaking his head in disgust he stuck his tongue out. Not entirely the worst thing he’d had in his mouth before but no way in hell he wanted to have this cocktail again anytime soon.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He paid close attention to the warming sensation inching throughout his body, blood vibrating. He could feel the hair on his arm stand on end. This was it. This was the moment. Building courage he opened his eyes slowly and stared into the mirror.

He saw himself looking back. Worried, bloodshot eyes staring back at himself. His normal self. He didn’t look any different.

Dean panicked, shutting his eyes and shaking again. He just needed a little more time for it to kick in. He tried too soon. That was all.

Trembling, he braced his arms on the sink and tried again, opening his eyes slowly to find his normal green eyes looking devastated back at him. No. This wasn’t happening.

He held his hands in front of him but still saw nothing. No glowing. No aura. No sensation of anything magic. Dean turned off the light. If he was supposed to be glowing, well he had the goddamn light on, of course he wasn’t going to see himself glowing.

Eyes adjusting slowly to the dark, he choked back a sob and he realized the entire bathroom was immersed in pitch black. An abyss of darkness with no aura to be found.

Something wasn’t right here.  _This_  wasn’t right. He  _was_  cursed. As painstakingly careful as he had been, Dean must have fucked something up with the spell.

He ripped open the door, blinded instantly by the daylight. Blinking open, he slowly focused around Bobby’s house. Everything looked the same but yet there were minor fluttering differences, like a mirage on hot asphalt. He walked into the livingroom and studied the books scattered across the room. Most of them looked normal but there were a small handful that shined like a lens flare, bright and distracting.

A few of them glowed pink. There were greens and blues and one blinding bright white. Despite the daylight, their auras were strong. All visible.

Dean’s body shook violently and he stormed back to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror there was no change. He wasn’t glowing. He wasn’t blinding. He  _wasn’t_ cursed.

He slid down the bathroom wall and sat on the hard floor. Bringing his knees up, he propped his elbows and supported his head as he wiped his hand over his face. Numb. Dean was numb. He sat on the floor of the bathroom, staring into nothingness, with air cooling over the wet streaks down his face. That bitch had cursed him. He  _knew_  it. He just needed to wait longer. He’d wait longer and it would show up.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Sam enjoyed spending time with Stephanie. She was blunt and crude and had a way of putting him at ease. She still had that thing going on with her boyfriend, that fight, or breakup, or makeup, Sam wasn’t sure. However, he was relieved that she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with him. They were just friends and couldn’t figure out for the life of him why someone like Stephanie would want to hang out with _him_ , but he wasn’t going to complain. It was a nice break from his brother. Things were too complicated there.

Neither Stephanie or Veronica mentioned anything more about his relationship with Dean, but now that both he and Dean were in agreement, the only damn thing he could think of was the last time Dean had his hands on him. Anytime the thought passed he forced himself to stop. To think of Stephanie instead, her soft small hands. But he always ending up comparing and always came down in favor of Dean. Sam wouldn’t let his mind go back to Dean’s eyes locked on his, panting under heavy lidded eyes in the car. Sam’s heart sank. When had this become so complicated?

It was a little after 10:00 pm when Sam opened the door to a dark house. “Dean?” He called to his brother, turning on a light in the livingroom. The Impala was parked in front of the house so he knew he was home.

He climbed the stairs and called again, “Dean, you in here?” He opened the door to an empty bedroom room. Sam shook his head. Dean was probably out in the garage somewhere. Walking back down to the kitchen he flipped on the light. But now with light shining down the hall, Sam saw legs extended on the floor of the bathroom.

“Dean?” He yelled and ran to him, throwing the door open wide. Dean looked up at him from the floor, confused. “What the hell, Dean?”

Shrugging his brother turned his head away.

“Dean, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”

Dean laughed despondently, his shoulders shaking against the wall, “No, Sam. No. I am not okay.”

Panic seizing him, Sam knelt next to his brother, “Is it Dad? What happened, Dean? Are they okay?”

Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head, “They’re fine, Sam.”

Furrowing his brow, Sam asked, “Then what is it?”

Dean continued to shake his head, “It’s nothing. Nevermind.” He rubbed his face hard with his hands and struggled standing up.

Sam saw a glass with something orange and murky lining the bottom inch. He picked it up, “What the hell is this, Dean?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean walked out of the bathroom.

“Are you  _high_? What’s in this?”

Dean continued to walk into the kitchen where Sam heard him open the fridge.

Sam stormed after him gripping the glass tight. “Dean!” He demanded, “Answer me.”

Pulling a beer out of the fridge and using the countertop to pop the cap, he turned towards Sam. His eyes were bloodshot and there were red marks streaked down his face. “Power shake,” he said dryly.

Sam looked in the glass skeptically. “Dean, don’t lie to me. Power shake?  _This_  is a power shake?”

Dean nodded at him weakly.

“Right. And you  _really_  expect me to believe that?” He sighed, “You wanna try that again?”

Dean shrugged and took a long draw of his beer otherwise ignoring Sam.

“Power shake?” Sam smelled the contents in the glass and balked, “So you won’t mind if I finish it then, right?”

Dean’s eye flashed quickly, Sam nearly missed it. Dean inhaled sharply. “It tastes like ass,” he stated indifferently, turning away, face reddening.

Sam smelled again. It was disgusting. “So?”

Dean turned back to see Sam lift the glass to his lips. “No, Sam!” Dean interrupted.

Sam stopped and lifted his eyebrow questioning, “You gonna talk?”

He sighed, “I did that fucking spell, okay?”

“The spell? What spell?”

Dean turned away, hiding his face from Sam. “The witchcraft one. The one that detects spells.”

“What? Why? Why did  _you_  take it?” He set the glass on the table hard.

Shoulders shrugging he replied, “I was just curious.”

Sam scoffed, “Curious?” He walked over to his brother. He grabbed his shoulders forcing Dean to turn and face him. He demanded, “Tell me what the hell is going on, Dean.”

Dean inhaled and shook his head, “Look, you and Dad got hit with that spell and I was just starting to think, maybe I-”

Sam held his shoulders firmly, “What’s wrong? Dean you have to tell me!”

He shuddered, “No, Sam, it’s nothing.” Sam stared at him fuming. “No, Sam, I mean it. Look I- I did the spell and nothing. There’s nothing.”

Sam shook his head, “I don’t believe you.” He marched over to the table and without a second thought slammed back the remaining contents of the glass.

“Sam!”

He shivered in disgust, “That’s fuckin’ nasty.”

“Sam! You can’t just-”

“No,” he interrupted. “Look, you did the spell because you think something’s wrong? Then I’m gonna make sure you’re not cursed.”

“Damn it, Sam. I’m not lying to you! I’m  _not_  cursed,” he said dismally.

Sam shook his head, “Maybe it doesn’t work on yourself? Maybe you need someone else to see it? If there  _is_  something wrong with you I want to know.”

Dean perked his head up, “You think- you think that I can’t see it on myself?”

“I don’t know, Dean! I don’t know what the hell is going on because you won’t tell me.” Sam closed his eyes and braced himself on the table. Tendrils of warm vibrations slithered through his body. He shook his head and felt Dean’s hand on the side of his face.

Dean forced him to meet his eyes, “You okay, Sam?”

Sam shivered and closed his eyes. They hurt. Everything was bright. “I’m fine, just, will you bring me to the couch?”

Dean helped maneuver him to the  living room and sat down with him on the couch.

Wincing, Sam blinked open his eyes and looked around the room. Even though it was dark he saw many soft little luminous balls of light flicker, slowly growing stronger. As he opened his eyes more fully, he focused on all the books across the room. Soft greens and vibrant and muted hues of many colors.

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was quiet, timid, “Do you- do you see them?”

Breathless Sam responded, “Yeah, Dean.”

In a pained gentle voice Dean asked, “And me? Am I-” His voice broke off.

Sam turned his head and shared in Dean’s frightened gaze. Dean looked the same. No glowing light. He was fine.

Lifting his hand, Sam brought it to where Dean’s neck and shoulder met, fingers rubbing a small comfort on his neck, “No, Dean. You’re not cursed. I don’t see anything.” Dean inhaled sharply, standing abruptly from the couch he pushed Sam’s arm aside. Sam followed, stepping carefully, blinking past the auras in the room.

“Dean, please,” he begged.

He shook his head, “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I thought this was it. I thought- it all made perfect sense. It didn’t start until the stupid fucking spell. It has to be that? Doesn’t it?”

“What, Dean?  _What_  happened to you?”

Taking a deep breath, Dean turned and looked Sam in the eye, “Nothing, Sammy. I’m fine. I thought- I just wasn’t feeling great, you know? And I thought maybe this was it.” He forced a strained smile, convincing no one.

“Dean, I can help,” Sam stepped closer. Dean took a step back.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just… I’m overreacting. I’m fine Sam, really.”

“Dean,” he pleaded.  
  
His brother turned away, “Look, I just need- I need to get out of here for a while, okay?”

Sam shook his head, “No, you’re obviously-”

“Sam,” Dean stated tersely. “Just, I need fresh air. I’m fine.” He walked into the kitchen grabbing his keys.

“Wait!” Sam called to him.

Dean stopped, back to Sam, hand caressing the frame of the door, “I’ll be back, Sam.” And he walked out into the dark.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean returned to Bobby’s late that night. He shuffled quietly into the room he shared with his brother. He was exhausted. So fucking exhausted he couldn’t give a second thought to Sam asleep in the twin bed across the room.

He was almost surprised to find himself awake in the morning, light shining through. Dean hadn’t expected to sleep but the stress of the day before was enough to shut his body down.

Stepping lightly down the stairs, he swallowed nervously hearing Sam on the phone. He took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

“Where did you say this was happening again?” Sam was scratching a pen on paper talking into the phone. “Fort Tuthill, Kachina Village, Sedona, Camp Verde,” Sam shook his head. “You know it’s probably not-” he put the pen down hard. “In Arizona? That’s gotta be the worst place for-” Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. “It could be a thousand things why do you think-”

Dean walked over to the fridge to start making breakfast for himself. He eyed Sam carefully as he talked on the phone then returned back to pouring a glass of orange juice.

“Fine. Yeah,” Sam scoffed. “They’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll tell them but they’re gonna say you’re crazy, man. In the meantime, you might want to consider the  _possibility_  that you got something else on your hands, just some advice.”

He hung up the phone and looked at Dean, exasperated, “Dude says he’s tracking a nest of  _vampires_.” Sam stared at him dully and added, “In Arizona.”

Dean forced a laugh as he threw bread in the toaster, “A nest?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. A single sighting is so rare these days but a whole nest? That’s crazy. But whatever. I told him I’d tell Bobby. He’s looking for backup on it, I guess.”

“Sounds like he’s been watching too much  _Buffy_.”

Sam laughed agreeing and walked over the the table. He sat down, crossing his arms and looked up at Dean. “So,” he hesitated.

Dean sighed and interrupted, “Okay, look dude, this is all I’m gonna say about yesterday. With you and Dad changing bodies I started to get a  _little_  paranoid and I thought maybe I was hit too. I started to look for things wrong, and since I was paying attention I started to see problems that weren’t there. I went overboard. So, I know you’re scared or worried for me or whatever the hell, but I’m fine.” He watched Sam look at him unconvinced. Dean continued, “Seriously, man. I freaked out is all. I thought I’d use the spell since it was handy.” Grabbing the popped up toast, he joined Sam at the table.

Sam eyed him skeptically and questioned, “Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? Ditching me at here all the time?”

Dean shoved a piece of toast in his mouth and shrugged.

“Okay, well, what did you  _think_  was wrong?”

Dean stopped chewing and looked at Sam carefully, “I don’t know.” He shifted his eyes away. “Just stuff. Itchy skin. Warm all the time. Trouble sleeping. A lot of headaches,” he lied.

“You got some headaches and thought you were cursed by a witch?”

Dean gave him a small smile, “I told you, man. I was paranoid.”

“If you were having trouble sleeping that could have given you headaches. Not to mention all the alcohol.”

“Yeah, okay Sam. I get it. Don’t need a lecture here. Can we just move on now?”

Sam smiled and lifted his eyebrows, “Alright, dude. Just don’t go making any more secret spells. That stuff is dangerous.”

“Bossy bitch,” Dean shoved another bite into his mouth. Sam smiled at him.

Dean had decided the less Sam knew about what was going on with him the better. Okay. So, checking out Sam wasn’t part of the spell. Fine. It wasn’t the end of the world. And  _of course_  he was checking him out. Dean was probably still reacting to having Sam back in his own body. So, yeah, he’d checked him over. Watched the way he moved, stared a little longer at his eyes, but just to really confirm that Sam was back. That’s all it was. And doing that made his brain freak out. So the stuff in the car? With all the sexual shit between them over the months everything just crossed wires. But now he knew what the problem was. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix. Dean would go back to seeing Sam as his bratty little brother. Everything would be fine.

After breakfast, the day wore on slowly. Sam informed him that John was returning the next day so this was their last bit of time at Bobby’s. Dean would be glad to leave. Right now he wanted to leave everything with this spell and his problem with his brother behind.

When his dad finally returned Bobby told them about the leyak and how disgusting it was in it’s bulging eye, bloody entrail body, floating and flying their way. They were able to bind it in it’s human form and from there it was easy. No more dead pregnant women. No more dead babies.

Sam informed them of the hunters that called while they were gone. He saved the hunter and his vampire problem for last.

“A nest?” John asked crossing his arms. “In Arizona?”

Sam nodded.

“Vampires are practically extinct. You should have told him that.”

“I  _did_ ,” Sam replied perturbed. Then quickly added, “Sir.”

“And he still thought it was a nest?”

“Yes, sir.”

John scratched his jaw, facial hair growing in strong. “Alright, looks like we’re headed to Arizona. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, boys, so pack up and be ready to leave.”

Dean groaned at the the thought. That’s twenty hours on the road. Two straight days. Two straight days just him and Sam. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam was unconvinced that Dean had told him the truth about the spell. It was clear that something was going on with him. And what he  _did_  admit to about the spell at least helped Sam fill in some of the blanks. It explained why he had been acting so damn weird since the body swap. It bothered Sam that Dean wouldn’t just tell him what was going on but he was more than willing to give him some space.

The drive to Arizona was boring and confusing and enlightening and frustrating. Sam tried to steal glances at Dean when he could. Study him. See if he was behaving different. And he was. Dean had been white knuckling it for hours. Probably the whole trip. Sam feigned sleeping more than once and when he did he noticed Dean would relax considerably.

During the second day there was a moment when Sam noticed Dean adjusting his jeans. Sam looked at him briefly and knew that Dean was hard behind the wheel. Dean exchanged a guilty glance with Sam, both knowing, and when Sam sat up to get a drink of water Dean flinched next to him.

“I wasn’t going to-” Sam tried to explain.

“Drop it, Sam.”

So he did.

He turned his head and watched as green grass turned brown turned to desert. But all he could think was Dean sitting next to him, adjusting his clothes, hard as hell. A few months ago Dean would have slapped him in the chest and told him to do something about it.

_“Dude, you awake?”_

_Groaning Sam replied, “Ugh, I am now.” Blinking away sleep he asked, “What do you want?”_

_And Dean gave him that look, raised his eyebrows, biting his lip suggestively. Sam looked to his lap. Dean was tenting._

_“Hmm?” He questioned suggestively._

_“You’re_ driving, _Dean.” Sam shook his head._

_Dean rolled his eyes, “You never got road head, dude?” Sam gave him a disgusted look and Dean continued, “No. What am I thinking. Of course not.”_

_“That’s disgusting, Dean. I’m not blowing you, jerk.”_

_“No!” Dean exclaimed. “No, not_ that _. No.” He shook his head, “Just… you know” Dean made a quick gesture with his hand._

 _Sam scoffed, “Dean, if you’re_ not _old enough to say it then you’re_ not _old enough to do it.”_

_“Says the virgin in the front seat.”_

_“Says your little brother that you just asked to jack you off.”_

_Dean grimaced, “Don’t say it out loud, dude. Seriously?”_

_Sam shook his head. He paused before asking, “So, what’s in it for me if I do?”_

_Dean smiled in victory, “I’ll get you next time you drive.”_

_“You never let me drive!”_

_“Sam! Come on! What do you want?”_

_He tilted his head, considering, “When we get to the motel, you return the favor. And I don’t have to do it back.”_

_Dean nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, okay.”_

_“And I get the remote the next two nights.”_

_Groaning, Dean agreed, “Fine. Okay, fine.” One handed, he brought his hand down to open his jeans._

_Sam shifted on the seat next to him. He could feel himself getting hard. Sam moved closer to his brother but just as he was about to reach in Dean’s boxers he stopped. Hand hovering over his lap, he asked, “You’re not going to crash us, are you?”_

_Affronted, Dean gaped, “Fuck up my Baby? Hell, no.”_

_Sam rolled his eyes and moved closer, his shoulder touching Dean’s. He reached into his pants with his left hand and grabbed his dick, pulling it through the hole in his boxers. Dean inhaled sharply._

_“Don’t close your eyes!” Sam demanded._

_“I’m not going to close my eyes!” Dean protested, “Now, just… do it.”_

_“Don’t be a jerk,” Sam mumbled. Leaning back against the seat, with his right hand Sam grabbed his own cock and held it firmly._

_“Wait!” Dean interrupted._

_Sam froze, “No?”_

_“No, not ‘no’. Yes, I still-" he sighed. "Just, grab those napkins on the floor first.”_

_Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the napkins. He put them next to Dean’s lap and returned his hand. Dean’s skin was soft and smooth and hard under his hands. Sam ignored the nagging feeling of depravity at how familiar he was with his brother’s dick. With his thumb, he mapped out the veins in the way that he knew his brother liked. Dean moved his legs wider, encouraging him to continue._

_Resting back on the seat himself, Sam began to rub his own dick, hard and pleading for attention. As he pumped them in time he listened to Dean’s paced breathing. Sam looked up and saw his brother’s eyes blinking, falling shut._

_With a hard pressure around Dean’s dick he squeezed tight, gritting through his teeth, “_ Don’t _close your eyes!”_

_“Fuck, ah!” Dean winced. “Yeah, yeah okay. Just. Stop talking and do it.”_

_Sam moved his hand in slow strokes. Down and up and turning just right. Sam’s heart beating rapidly with Dean’s. The throb of Dean in his hand made his blood rush down, warm, causing his stomach to flutter. Sam closed his eyes and listened to the panting hurried sounds from both of them._

_Rubbing his thumb under the head of Dean’s cock, he moved up slightly, pulling down a bead dripping wet._

_Dean gasped next to him._

_Sam opened his eyes to check, Dean still had his eyes open. Heavy lidded but open along with his mouth. His eyes were focused intently on the road, long stretch of straight interstate before them. Dean leaned back into the seat as Sam continue to stroke him in firm grasps. Sam watched as his brother got close, his eyes blinking longer and slower._

_Concerned, Sam breathed, “Eyes open, Dean.”_

_“Fuck,” brow furrowing he swore. “Open, Sam. Goddamn it.”_

_He sped up his grasps, wrist twisting just right, dick wet with precome. And Dean rocked his legs underneath. His breathing increased, short, and hot, and Dean’s arms locked on the wheel._

_Reluctantly, Sam pulled his hand from his own dick, bringing precome with it, and with two hands he stroked his brother. Dean’s arms wavered on the wheel. Knowing Dean was close, Sam grabbed the napkins, ready._

_With a pained look, Dean let out a hitched moan and Sam felt warm wetness coat his hand. Quickly he used the napkin while still pumping slowly, pulling from Dean what was left._

_Dean leaned back relaxing into the seat as Sam moved his hand to himself, wetness of Dean’s come helping ease each stroke. It didn’t take long before Sam’s eyes rolled back and he bit his lip feeling the wave of his own orgasm._

_Slowing his breathing, Sam blinked languidly. He looked down at the mess on his lap and scowled. Dean laughed quietly next to him. Sam turned his head to see his brother looking at his lap._

_“Nasty, dude.”_

_Sam groaned, “My hands and pants are covered in jizz. Do we have any water? This is disgusting.” Dean laughed harder as Sam added, “I didn’t think this through.” He attempted to clean himself with extra napkins he found on the floor, “This has gotta be worth three nights of the remote. At least.”_

_Dean shook his head at him and smiled._

Sam continued to blink out the window. They weren’t going to be doing that again. He swallowed down the pain in the back of his throat. Closing his eyes he slouched low in the seat, laying back, he pretended to be asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Dean followed John to a quiet cabin in the woods he was ready to run from the car. Run from his brother. He needed a hunt. He was ready to kill something. His skin was crawling and he just wanted it to stop. To stop thinking about Sam. So when he opened the door of the cabin and saw the room with one large queen bed in the middle, he was livid.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered to himself. Shaking his head he ran back outside to John pulling out equipment from the truck. “Dad! Why’s there only one bed?”

John shifted against the car, “It’s just for a couple days, Dean.”

“I get to recon the nest with you, right?  _So_ , I’m going with you for a couple days? Sam stays here,” he hoped.

John sighed, “Dean. You two share a bed all the time.”

“Dad! Sam and I are too old to share! Come on!”

“Dean,” he warned. “Two days. Three tops. I’m just going to check it out and see what we’re dealing with here. Then if I need you boys I’ll call.”

Arms resting on his hips, Dean shook his head exasperated, “But Dad-”

“No. That’s final. You understand?”

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed back his anger. Through gritted teeth he replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Besides,” John added, “Dave wasn’t sure where they might hit next. Whatever they are, they’re smart and on the move. They could easily turn up here so I need you two here to keep on alert.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said reluctantly.

John handed him a bag of supplies and Dean trudged into the cabin. Sam was staring at the bed. When Dean entered he turned to him, eyes questioning.   
  
Dean shook his head. “I’ll sleep in the car,” he muttered.

“What?” Sam asked, “Dean, no. It’s fine.”

Dean’s stomach dropped as he met Sam’s eyes. There was no way he’d be able to sleep next to his brother. Warmth radiating, soft puffs of breath as he slept. And all Dean would want would be to reach out, take his lips and collide into them with his own.

Furrowed brow, angry, Sam snapped quietly, “I’m not going to attack you in your sleep, Jesus Dean!” He turned and left the cabin, door slamming behind.

Dean needed to get drunk. He just need to be drunk right the hell now. He needed his brain to stop and his body to relax.

When John left he instructed them to call if there was any suspicious activity in the area, mutilated animal carcasses, or humans with odd neck wounds. And absolutely do not attempt to hunt this on their own. John’s plan was to meet with Dave, the other hunter, and canvas the area. Death was sporadically popping up around camp grounds and national forests, so whatever the hell was doing this could just as easy hit Sam and Dean as it could John. He gave them a cell phone to contact him and it actually received reception if you stood in the corner and lifted the phone just right.

After he left, Sam and Dean drove to the nearest town to pack up supplies for the next couple of days, the energy still charged and awkward between them. Dean made sure to pack a heavy supply of various assortments of alcohol, while Sam gave him worried looks. On their way into the campground Dean bought a few bundles of wood and they continued on to the cabin.

Sam worked diligently, arranging the logs in the fire pit just right. Dean watched him, bending and shifting them just right. Sweat saturating his shirt and collecting on his brow, he used his arm to wipe it off. Sam ignited the fire while Dean sat back and readied burgers to grill. Licking his lips, Sam studied his work carefully as the fire started to burn the wood. He prodded it with a stick to get everything in just the right place.

Sam looked up and smiled at Dean, “Who needs the Boy Scouts, huh?”

Dean, caught staring at his brother, deflected quickly, “I’m pretty sure we could teach  _them_  a thing or two.”

Sam chuckled as he sat on a log around the fire, “101 Practical Uses for Silver. Everything you wanted to know about killing shapeshifters, skinwalkers, werewolves and wraiths.”

Dean smiled bringing the hamburgers to set over the grill on the fire. “We could make some money with that.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam poked the fire with his stick. Keeping himself distracted with grilling, Dean worked at preparing their meal with the sun setting low behind him.

They ate in silence and listened to the crackle of the fire as it grew dark. Dean retrieved a couple beers, extending one to Sam.

“Nah, that’s okay man,” he declined.

“No?” Dean asked bringing the bottle to his lips.

“I’m still reeling from last time.”

Dean froze. Choking back his swig, he stared at his brother wide eyed.

“No, that’s not-” Sam stammered. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t talking about the- with the girls! I just mean since the swap I’ve been drinking a lot and last time I had a really bad hangover. I didn’t mean, about the-”

“Just stop talking!” Dean snapped.

They sat in painful silence that pulled at Dean’s throat. He wanted to say something to make it better. He wanted to stop acting like a fucking perverted freak and just get back to being Sam’s brother.

It didn’t take him long to throw back a few beers and soon the numbing buzz was the only sensation he focused on. Not Sam. Not his stupid long hair and that pointed nose. And his eyes that were shadowed, dark, and deep set with the light from the flames giving him small glimpses. And the stupid way he prodded the fire, biceps flexing under his tight frame. And, god, he was getting so tall these days, no longer his  _little_  brother.

Sam looked up from the fire catching Dean in his deep fixation. Dean swallow the last of his beer and stood up. It was late. He was numb. He just wanted to sleep. Just sleep until this fucking thing went away.  
  
“You goin’ to bed?” Sam asked.

Dean ran his fingers over his hair, “Jus’ gonna grab something out of the ‘pala.”

He turned away from his brother and staggered to the car. Dean pulled open the rear door and fell onto the seat. He could sleep in the car a few days. Dad would be back and they’d be gone. No more fucking sharing a bed bullshit. Dean scrambled around and shut the door by his feet. He fell on his back, knees bent up allowing him more room.

His breath hitched when he realized he watched Sam get blown right  _here_. Here. Right where he was laying. Sam was writhing and moaning and some chick was sucking him off and it was one of the hottest most perverse things Dean had ever seen. And, Jesus,  _he_  wanted to be the one doing that to his brother. Get his lips wrapped around his dick and learn the parts of him he didn’t know. Things he should  _never_  know. Dean’s throat constricted as he tried to swallow back whatever the hell he was feeling. Despair. Lust. Delirium?

Fuck. And if he wanted a dick in his mouth what the hell did that mean? It had never occurred to him with anyone else. Just Sam. Why the hell did he feel like this? His stupid fucking brother making his heart beat fast and stomach flip and blush.  _Dean_  did not blush. But damn it, Sam made him miserable. He hated himself for this. What kind of person, _brother,_  who is supposed to protect him, wants to do this shit? And it was all Dean’s fault too. He knew that. He started this whole fucking thing.

Sam was too young to know better and Dean, he tried to care at first. He did. When he was aware that Sam was hearing him all those nights, he stopped. Dean knew it wasn’t right. But then Sam started it up and what the hell? They weren’t hurting anyone.

But Dean’s the one that fucking pushed it. He and Sam shared a bed  _that_  night too. Bad things happened when they shared a bed. He knew that. Sam knew that. Dean had just heard Sam whining and panting, close in his ear, and he sounded so pained. And Dean knew he could help and it wasn’t a big deal. It  _wasn’t_. He was just helping.

In the morning when he realized what had happened, he hated himself. But he didn’t stop. He  _never_  fucking stopped and he just kept doing it and doing it and then Sam was doing it back. And now they were here. And it was all Dean’s fucking fault.

A warm tear escaped the corner of his eye. It ran, long and slow, trailing down his face. He was fucked up. And he wasn’t going to bring Sam with him this time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam rolled his eyes as he watched his brother fall into the car. Dean was going to sleep in the car because he thought Sam wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of him. Dean was being such an ass and Sam was getting sick of it.

With his stick, Sam pushed around the remaining few logs, breaking them into hot embers. It was enough to let the fire burn out. He stood up and shivered as he walked away from the warmth and towards the car.

Grasping tight and angry, he threw the Impala door open, calling firmly, “Come on, Dean.”

“Sam! What the hell?” Dean groaned.

“Come on,” Sam grabbed him by his ankles and pulled hard, forcing him to lay with legs dangling out of the car.

“What the fuck?”

Sam crossed his arms, “You’re  _not_  sleeping in the car.”

“Sam,” Dean rubbed his face then looked up. “It’s fine. I’ve done it-”

“No, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Get out. Get out of the car.”

“No.”

Sam leaned low and poked Dean in the chest, “I’m getting really sick of your shit. I’m  _not_  going to touch you, okay? Just. Get over it and come inside.”

“I’m fine out here.”

“You’re ‘fine’ out here?” Sam nodded incredulously, “You’re fine out here? Okay, how about this? If you don’t get over whatever the hell problem you have with me in the next five minutes, I’m gonna come out here and I’m gonna sleep right next to you on the back seat. And I will breathe on your face all night long if that’s what it takes.” Sam punched his arm, “I’m serious. Get over it.”

Dean glared at him, eyes narrowing.

Sam added, “And if you decide to stay out here and lock me out of the car I  _will_  break in and I wont be nice about it.” He smile sarcastically, kicked Dean’s feet, turned, and walked into the cabin leaving his brother swearing behind.

Clenching his fists he stormed in. It was one room with one queen bed. Off to the left there was a small kitchenette space and in the back left corner there was a small bathroom. Tiny. Miniscule. Big enough for a single stalled shower, a toilet, a small standing sink and a mirror. Sam shook his head at the size of it and stepped in leaving his clothes behind.

If he turned to the side he felt like both his shoulders would hit the walls. He reached an arm in turning on the water, waiting for it to heat but the best he got was luke warm. Taking a shower in record time, he turned the water off and stepped out. Grabbing a small towel, barely big enough to wrap around his hips, he stepped out into the main room.

Dean was laying on the far side of the bed, on top of the covers, back facing Sam.

Sam changed into boxers and a t-shirt quickly and slid into the bed turning the light off as he went.

“Dean?” He asked, voice scratching in the dark. He could tell his brother wasn’t asleep by his short puffing breaths. “Dean, come on. I know you’re awake.”

Dean sighed into the dark and mumbled, “Whutdda want, Sam?”

“You’re not gonna take a shower?”

“No,” he sulked.

“You smell like the campfire.”

“This  _whole_  place smells like campfire,” Dean protested.

“Dean?” Sam scooted in, still giving him space but moving closer. Dean’s body was a heavy weight over the covers making Sam feel tucked in tight.

“What, Sam?” Dean sounded drained.

“Will you look at me?”

“It’s pitch black, Sam. You can’t see anything.”

“Dean,” he whined.

Reluctantly, Dean rolled on his side, facing him. Close enough that Sam could smell the alcohol on his breath. “What?” Dean asked impatiently.

Sam took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” his voice weak and trembling, “And, I’m really sorry if it’s me, or if I did something but-”   
  
“Sam-”  
  
“Dean, can you please just stop this?  _Please?_ ” Sam begged.

Dean took a deep breath. Sam felt the bed move as Dean lifted his hand and placed it on the side of Sam’s head, soothing his hand through Sam’s messy wet hair. Sam closed his eyes and focused on the shivery tingle from his skull to his spine.

“It’s not you, okay?” Dean said softly. “Just, shut up and go to bed.”

Sam blinked at him, eyes working hard to focus in the dark. “Dean,” he pleaded. Dean took his hand off Sam and rolled to the far side, bed sinking as he struggled. Sam panicked and sat up, “Dean, wait don’t go-”

“Relax,” Dean pulled the covers down and slid in between the sheets. Moving his way in, he intentionally knocked Sam’s foot with his own.

Sam sighed in relief. Silence encompassed them for a short moment before Sam said in a hushed voice, “This is harder than I thought.” He felt Dean tense next to him.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted.

Sam inched over towards him. He felt Dean go rigid but he kept moving closer until his forehead touched lightly to his brother’s shoulder, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Sam.”


	12. Chapter 12

When Dean woke the next morning he found Sam’s legs snaked around his own. His head resting next to Dean’s sharing his pillow. Instantly it brought Dean back to countless nights sharing a bed as kids. Even when they’d had their own, Sam was known for sneaking in occasionally at night and in the morning Dean would find him wrapped into him.

It was familiar. And Dean found that he had missed the closeness of his brother over the last two months. They shared a bed and made it through the night. Nothing bad happened. Nothing escalated. Dean needed to get his shit together, Sam was right. He was still Sam’s brother and Sam still needed him so he was going to force it aside and deal.

Dean crept out of bed, careful not to wake him. As quietly as he could manage, he removed a frying pan and put it on the small burner. He grabbed eggs from the mini fridge and began to make breakfast.

It didn’t take long for Sam to wake from the noise and the smell. Dean heard him groaning and stretching in the bed behind him. He watched as Sam crawled to the end of the bed, smiling at him. Dean turned away, hiding his warming face.

Breakfast was his apology.

Each day that passed in that little cabin got slightly easier. Dean learned to curb his thoughts and the more relaxed Dean became the happier Sam seemed to become.

They spent their days exploring the campground. There was an archery range nearby and both boys were excited to practice with less familiar weapons. It quickly became a competition and of course Dean was the victor, making sure to remind Sam frequently throughout the day.

A week had gone by and still no word from John. Dean couldn’t say he was surprised but now that he was forcing himself to be a better brother to Sam he found he was actually enjoying their time. They swam in the creek and went hiking, all while looking for signs of a vampire nest or other creatures, hiding in the wilderness.

At the end of the night they made a habit of relaxing around the fire, exhausted. Sam always built it and Dean watched, drinking beer as his brother worked. He offered some to Sam and on most nights he declined but occasionally he’d join.

“You in tonight?” Dean extended a bottle to his brother, sweat dripping cold down the side.

Sam looked up from the fire and shrugged. He reached out to accept the offering. “Dean, did you ever think about doing anything else?”

Dean scratched arm, “What do you mean?” He took a drink slowly, eyeing his brother.

“Like, you know, not hunting. Going to a vo-tech? Finding a place to settle in?”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, confused.

“You don’t want to hunt your whole life, do you?”

Dean shrugged, “Never really thought about it.”

They sat in silence for a while, both hypnotized by the flames, licking and cracking into the night sky. A slow change in wind rolled through, altering the direction of the smoke. Sam coughed, waving it to the side unsuccessfully.

Dean laughed at him and motioned, “Come over here, dude.”

Shaking his head, coughing, Sam stood and joined his brother on the log across the fire. Dean nudged him with his shoulder as he sat next to him. Sam pushed back softly, keeping their arms in contact. Dean’s heart flipped and he took another long drink.

Several beers later, the boys found themselves laughing warmly remembering past days. With his head spinning he felt good. Sam smiling at him, rubbing into his shoulder, he gave in, letting his mind wander. Dean kept coming up with reasons to put his hands on him. Brush the ash out of his hair, wrap his arm around him patting him on the back, nudging into him gently as they talked about what their lives would have been like had they stayed in any of the hundreds of towns they’d lived.

And Sam was just as playful. He’d been drinking more than usual. They both had. Sam knocked Dean’s knees with his, cheerfully smiling at his brother.

And when Sam flashed him those dimples, Dean couldn’t help the jumping feeling in his stomach. In a hazy cloud, Dean finally was feeling relaxed.  _This_  is how it was supposed to be, lighthearted and comfortable.  _Home._  Sam was Dean’s home and he felt like he was returning from a long sabbatical.

Dean lifted his head to the sky as he heard a crack of thunder, “Think we’re gonna get rained out?”

Sam looked up, considering the storm clouds blocking any sign of the moon. “Kind of feels like it, huh?”

Affectionately, Dean lifted his eyebrows, “Wanna take it in?”

Sam nodded and they packed the gear that they didn’t want to get wet and poked the logs until all that was left were glowing embers.

“What are we going to do now?” Sam asked as he entered the cabin.

Following behind, Dean trudged to the kitchen’s small fridge and pulled out a six pack. “Yeah?” He smiled.

Sam shook his head and walked to his side of the bed. He toed off his shoes and sitting, he leaned back against the headboard. Thunder rolling in the distance, storm growing closer, Dean shuffled to his side and fell on his stomach. Looking up towards Sam he smiled and extended his hand with a beer.

“Dude, I think I’m good,” Sam smiled.

Dean lifted an eyebrow, “Aw, come on. What else are you gonna do being stuck in here all night?”

“Cards? Read? I don’t know,” he scoffed.

Dean shook his head and crawled towards the headboard. He turned and situated himself sitting next to Sam. “Too bad we don’t have any weed,” taking one of the extra beers, he placed it directly in Sam’s lap. “We, ah-” he stammered, “We  _don’t_  have any weed? Right?”

Sam mocked, “Yeah, Dean. If there’s one thing you know about me it’s that I keep a stash of pot around just in case you get bored.”

Dean smirked, “You’re seventeen, dude. Of course you have a stash of pot around.”

Sam shook his head, “Sorry to disappoint.”

Leaning close into his shoulder Dean nudged, “Wouldn’t be the first time, you nerd. Here-” Dean tapped on the top of the can in Sam’s lap. “Come on. Don’t fall behind.”

“I didn’t know this was a competition,” but he popped the tab and reluctantly took a drink.

“I’m  _surprised_  you don’t have some weed, look how easy you give into peer pressure.”

“You’re not my peer, you’re my pain in the ass.”

Dean snickered, and slid down the headboard, “That doesn’t even make sense, dude.”

Sam joined him, laying properly on the bed, laughing, arm brushing against Dean’s. “Maybe you’re just too drunk to understand?”

Dean closed his eyes, “I’m  _definitely_  too drunk.” Dean licked his lips and looked up at his brother, “Come on, you need to catch up.”

Looking down at him, Sam smiled, shook his head, and gave in. He took another drink. “Satisfied?”

Dean closed his eyes and hummed, “Never.”

Sam lolled his head next to Dean’s and replied, “Yeah, I’d believe that.”

As they lay on the bed, Dean listened to the approaching storm. Intermittent pitter pattering of big drops fell on the roof of their little cabin and soon it grew into a steady downfall.

Smiling, Dean said, “You used to be scared shitless of thunder.” Sam looked to his brother as he continued, “You used to sneak in my bed at night. You remember that?”

Sam smiled looking down to the can still in his hand, “Yeah.” He reached over to the side and set it on the small table next to the bed. When he returned he shifted closer to Dean.

The rain pounded heavy and Dean could feel the rumble through the bed, loud cracking punctuating their silence. The air was heavy with humidity and the smell of campfire on their clothes mixed with the fresh earthy rain.

Dean dropped his empty can to the floor. Sighing, he shifted closer to Sam tapping his side, “You want another beer?”

A loud crash of thunder interrupted them and suddenly the cabin was plunged into complete darkness.

Sam sighed, “Powers out.”

Dean laughed, “No, shit.”

Sam flung his hand out to whop Dean in chest. Dean groaned and Sam smiled in satisfaction. He left his hand on Dean’s chest. They listened to each other’s breathing, calm and slow. Lightning blinked, bright flashes outside the dark cabin. Sam started rubbing the back of his hand over Dean’s chest as they both willed their eyes to focus in the dark.

Dean paid attention intently on Sam’s touch, bony knuckles lightly caressing over his sternum.

The alcohol was making him feel relaxed. He felt so at peace like this with Sam. Sam who was being so careful and tender. But Dean thought back to the night in the bar with him and how assertive he had been with Stephanie. Dean knew better than to ask but with the darkness surrounding them, protecting him, he couldn’t stop himself as the words slipped out, “You’re still a virgin, right? I mean, you’d tell me after it happens?”

Sam tensed and moved his hand from Dean chest. “Why do you care, Dean?” He was embarrassed, Dean could hear it in his voice.

“I’m not gonna make fun of you, Sam. Just curious is all.”

Sam waited a few moments before saying, “Yeah.”

Dean was quiet. He could feel Sam still tense next to him. Dean turned on his side, trying to make out the outline of his brother in the dark, “So what  _have_  you done?”

“Dude, why do you  _care_?”

“I don’t.”

Sam sighed and hesitated before admitting, “Basically that night in the car.” He shifted next to Dean on the bed.

“She wasn’t your first kiss, man? Was she? No way, you were a beast,” Dean snickered and swatted playfully at Sam’s arm.

Sam chuckled, “No. No, but everything else-”

Studying what he could of his brother once more, Dean rolled to his back, positioning himself close, arms touching. Dean couldn’t help but think about the car. And Stephanie, and how his brother moaned, and his quiet whimpering. Before it even occurred to him what he was doing, Dean’s hand was moving south, cupping the top of his swelling cock. Dean shifted, thinking he needed to knock it off, right the hell now. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to roll on top of Sam and give him a couple more new experiences.   
  
“So, how was it?”

Sam huffed, voice rasping, “The blow job? You’ve gotten blown before, dude, it was probably like that.”

Dean felt Sam shift awkwardly. They had done this enough times in the dark for Dean to know what was going on. He wanted to leave, at least part of him did. More importantly, he wanted to  _want_  to leave, but Jesus, more than anything he wanted to reach over and suck his brother off. Taste the skin leading down on his abdomen. He wanted to bite and mark him and now he could feel the bed move as his brother’s hand reached down to himself. Dean heard Sam inhale quietly next to him.

“Dean,” Sam whispered. He rolled to his side, so close Dean could feel his breath puff lightly against his cheek.

“We can’t, Sam,” breathlessly, Dean pleaded.

Sam ignored him and Dean felt his fingers brush lightly against his hip. “Just, Dean,” tentatively Sam trailed them over Dean’s arm, reaching his hand over the top of Dean’s, “Just this one last time.” He rolled in closer to Dean and he could feel the heat of him along the side of his body, “Please?”

“Sam,” Dean’s heart raced as he protested weakly.

“Shh, just let me, Dean.” He unzipped his jeans.

Finally, surrendering, Dean moved his arm to the side and felt Sam snake around to grab his cock firmly over his boxers. The fuzzy cloud from the alcohol buzzed under his skin and he let his legs fall open brushing into Sam’s.

His brother stroked him and Dean couldn’t help but turn his head into him, sharing quickening breaths with Sam. Arm heavy, he reached out sneaking his fingers underneath the bottom of Sam’s shirt. He felt Sam’s abs flutter underneath his touch. Dean was shaking. This would be the  _last_  time. They both just needed one  _last_  time. So Dean could remember. So Sam could move on.

He felt his brother lean in, noses brushing softly. Dean’s heart was racing, pounding blood pouring through him, rushing. He panted whimpers that couldn’t be held back, puffs of air shared between them. Sam moved forward slowly and before Dean knew what was happening Sam’s lips were on his. Soft. So soft Dean thought it was an accident, and he was frozen, suspended in the moment unable to lean away. After a short time, Sam pulled away from him deliberately, sharing a breath between them. Dean could feel him trembling.

“Dean, I- I didn’t-”

But Dean didn’t let him finish. He pushed forward colliding into Sam. He brought his hand up and braced Sam’s face pulling him closer as he licked into his lips. Sam opened and Dean’s stomach flipped as Sam’s tongue met his own, hot and wet. Sam lifted his hands from Dean’s cock and brought them up under Dean’s shirt, pushing frantically for him to remove it, scratching the skin underneath.

Quickly, they both scrambled to sit up on their knees and tore at each other’s shirts. Dean could hear threads break as his stretched over his head. The thunder was cracking and the rain was pounding in time with Dean’s heart and his hands were gripped tight on Sam’s hips, demanding he come closer. Sam brought his hands to Dean’s head and pulled him in, meeting their lips hard and bruising.

Dean’s mind was unfocused as he reached his hands lower to push off Sam’s jeans. Sam grabbed at Dean’s to do the same. While they struggled, Dean attempted to kick his off but held on to his underwear. Sam pushed him onto his back, bouncing into the mattress and then he was on top of him. Covering Dean’s body, kissing him deep and hard and fast.

Dean was dizzy, spinning, and so awake to Sam pinning him down and the taste in his mouth and the shivering on his skin. Dean gasped as his brother pushed his hips firmly down into him. Shit. He could feel Sam’s cock grinding into his hips. Christ, Sam’s dick was hard and the only thing between them was a few flimsy layers of cotton. It brought Dean’s attention back to what  _he_  wanted.

Moving one hand to Sam’s shoulder Dean exerted his strength and flipped him, throwing Sam on his back on the bed next to him. Sam’s laugh turned into a moan as Dean’s mouth quickly was on him. Then in one swift move Dean was straddling Sam and biting down his neck. Biting and sucking and licking and soothing into Sam’s neck. And Sam was thrusting his hips, writhing beneath him. Dean could feel his brother’s cock under his ass with each little thrust. He was so fucking close. He couldn’t help but push down on it, moaning against his brother’s skin.

Heart pounding, he used his fingernails to scratch angry trails into Sam’s skin. Dean trailed down his body, his amulet thunking hard on Sam’s chest as he went. Dean’s tongue lapped at his skin to soothe the red marks he made. And Sam was arching his back underneath him, leaning into more contact. Dean just needed to touch more of him. It wasn’t enough.

Dean paused, gripping the elastic around Sam’s waist. He looked up and could faintly see Sam looking at him in awe, nodding slightly. Pulling down his boxers, Sam quickly kicked them to the side and Dean held his hand firm on Sam’s hips. With his thumbs he rubbed small circles and closed his eyes, shaking. Dean could feel the heat from Sam as his brother squirmed, adjusting his hips underneath him, small thrust reminding them of what they both wanted.

Breathing hot short puffs of air over his cock, Dean slowly lowered his head and licked a hesitant trail up Sam’s shaft. He swirled his tongue, wet and warm around the tip. He licked carefully, tasting the bead of precome dripping out. Sam gasped and shook under the steady grip Dean had on his hips.

Bringing a hand to Sam’s cock, he held onto the base with one hand, tight pressure against his body. Something so familiar to him, Dean holding his brother’s dick, but not like this. Never like this. Never with Dean’s nose buried into his brother’s stomach, breathing in the scent uniquely Sam. With Sam writhing wantonly, gasping softly underneath him. And suddenly small licking tastes weren’t enough and Dean guided his dick into his mouth, engulfing his brother in warm wetness.

“Shit,” Sam’s breath hitched as his legs trembled.

Dean hummed around his cock, feeling the impossible heat heavy in his mouth. Soft, and firm and thick. He used his tongue to map out the veins, tracing from root to tip with Sam moaning his name, quietly panting from the other end of the bed.

Dean’s heart pounded, thumping under his chest, and more cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning filled the room. In the brief illumination, Dean met his brother’s dark eyes, shamelessly salacious, perilous, causing Dean’s heart to race faster. They shouldn’t be doing this.  _Dean_  shouldn’t be doing this. But this was the  _last_  time and he just had to know. He had to know what Sam tasted like.

With a free hand he reached down to stroke himself in time with the pulls of Sam’s cock. He was trembling and breathless, feeling the warm build low in his stomach, flipping and dangerous. He didn’t want it to end. This could never end.

Sam extended his legs, stretching and whimpering as Dean picked up his pace, bobbing, licking and sucking around his dick. Cupping his balls, massaging gently as he worked Sam’s cock.

Sam gasped, “Fuck, Dean. I’m-”

Dean held his eyes closed tight and focused on the feeling of Sam, throbbing around his lips. He used a hand to continue to pump as his tongue licked under the head. He felt Sam’s hand reach down, running his fingers through his hair making Dean shiver. He couldn’t help moaning around him, humming buzz vibrating straight through Sam’s cock.

Crying obscenely, back arching into bed, Sam thrust into Dean, throbbing, thick ropes of come flooding his mouth. And Dean sucked harder, stroking, pulling everything he could from his brother.

Sam trembled underneath him as Dean slowly pulled away. Shaking, Dean started to kneel and felt Sam grab at his shoulders, pulling him close. Dean climbed up, scrambling into Sam’s lap and suddenly Sam was sitting, reaching him with his tongue exploring into his mouth, searching and panting hitched breaths.

Dean winced as he felt Sam wrap his hand firmly around his dick. With his other hand he held Dean’s head close, breathing through his gasps, licking into his mouth, biting his bottom lip. As Sam pistoned his arm, pumping, Dean broke their kiss and dropped his head to the side of his brother’s neck biting weakly. Christ, Dean was sitting, writhing, on top of Sam’s spend cock, taste of his come in his mouth, as Sam was pulling him off. He wanted to grind down, wake up his brother’s dick so he could feel it hard underneath him again. Thick and firm against his ass.

Dean reached his hands to Sam’s head and pulled him close again, tongue thrusting, messy and wet into his mouth, bearing weight on his lap, little thrusts into his brother’s hand pumping him hard. And he was close. He was so fucking close. With Sam’s hands on him and tongue in his mouth, Dean never wanted it to end. Sam was everywhere breathing hard and pumping firm.

Sinking hard on Sam’s lap, Dean moaned into his mouth, “Aw, fuck, Sam.” Sam’s thumb brushed over him and Dean felt the warm build at the base of his spine, eyes rolling back. Dean pulled off of Sam’s mouth and swore as his back arched rigid, releasing into Sam’s hands.

Chest heaving, shaking intensely, Dean tried to calm his breathing. Slowly in, and exhaling, and shit, was he still sitting on Sam? Fuck he probably shouldn’t-

Sam interrupted his thoughts, guiding Dean’s lips to his. Sam kissed him soft and slowly. Deeply. And Dean calmed, relaxing into his touch.

Dean pulled back, trembling, climbing off his brother. He adjusted himself, laying on his side, Sam turned to him. Tilting his head in, Sam met his lips again, one final gentle kiss.

He whispered hoarsely, “Good night, Dean.”

Dean, exhausted, relaxed, calm and warm with Sam by his side, returned, “Night, Sam.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam woke to the sun shining bright on his face. Too warm. Too bright. And his head was throbbing. He blinked open his eyes, pupils constricting, focusing on his brother inches away from his face. Sam stared briefly, willing his eyes to focus. He could see every freckle as Dean puffed little huffs of air so close. Shaking his head slightly, he pulled himself away clambering out of the bed, fighting his way to the bathroom.

Turning the light on, he waited for his eyes to adjust in the mirror. Sam’s stomach dropped as he saw the bruised patches lining his neck and angry red scratch marks down his chest. He froze in the mirror.

“Shit,” he breathed, throat tensing as he lifted a hand to his neck to trace the bruises. Leaning closer he studied the dark trailing marks, “Shit!”

He remembered now. He remembered everything. Dean trying to stop him. Sam ignoring him. Touching him. Then, fucking shit. He kissed him. He  _kissed_  his brother. Dean was just there, so close, and warm, and he just missed Dean so damn much. He had finally started acting like his brother again. So Sam had leaned in and before he knew what was happening they were scrambling out of their clothes and Sam was on top of Dean, biting his lip. And everything just felt so good. Then,  _Jesus_ , Dean was on him and was fucking  _blowing_  him. His  _brother_. Sam’s heart was racing and he knew that they shouldn’t but Sam didn’t want him to stop and  _fuck_. Sam needed to get out of there. He needed to get out of the cabin right the hell now.

Dean was sleeping in the bed they shared. Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother. He need to leave. He needed to clear his mind. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t think with Dean so near. What the hell had Sam been thinking? What the hell had they done?

Panicking, Sam grabbed his duffel bag and pulled out a shirt and jeans. He threw them on hastily and stepped towards the door, duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. Sam felt his back pocket for his wallet. He carefully opened the door and stepped out.

Looking down the gravel road he began walking. Sam tried to blanket his mind in nothing. Just walking. He needed to be away from that cabin. He was too close. He just needed to walk a bit farther. The sound of the crunching gravel underfoot. The sun warming his back. Mantra of  _What the hell?_   _What the hell? What. The. Hell?_ running through his mind.

Sam’s heart was racing. If he could just  _not_  be here everything would be fine. That fucking cabin. With Dean in it. And Sam couldn’t swallow back the lump in his throat.

He had his tongue in his brother’s mouth. He had  _liked_  it. He had yearned for it, wanted more of him and Dean had obliged. Dean had kissed down his neck and marked him, leaving evidence of this whole godforsaken incident.

What the hell was his problem? Why would Sam push for something like that? Dean hadn’t wanted to. Dean had tried to stop them. But Sam kept pushing. And why the  _hell_  would he do that?   
  
Sam continued walking, feet pounding on the ground, he just needed to get as far away from that fucking cabin as fast he could. It didn’t matter where he was going.

He wasn’t sure how long he was traveling on the gravel road but eventually a small red car pulled up alongside him, window rolled down. Sam looked over to an older man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

The man called to him, “Hey, kid! Where you goin’? Need a lift? Town’s a few miles.”

Sam stopped. His legs were aching and his back dripping with sweat. Walking over to the car, Sam nodded and scratched, “Thanks.” He walked around to the passenger side and crawled in, slamming the door behind him.

“So, where you heading, kid?”

“Uh,” Sam stammered. “Where are you going?”

“Flagstaff. Be there in about fifteen.”

“Yeah, Flagstaff. That’s good. Thanks for the ride,” he turned to watch the road pass by, campground far behind him in the dust.

The drive in to Flagstaff passed much faster than Sam had anticipated. The man he hitched a ride with, Vince, dropped him off at a diner. The first thing Sam did was stop at an ATM and remove the largest amount of a cash advance available. Sam didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He just knew he needed to be away from the cabin. Be away from Dean.

He slid into one of the empty booths and ordered lunch. Sam spent all day waiting in the diner, hoping an idea would come to him but none did. And there was no way in hell he was calling Dean for a ride back.

As it started to get dark he decided to finally leave. Sam explored the area, wandering through parks and residential neighborhoods. He passed by a small rundown grocery store and kept going. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He just needed to keep walking.

But his legs were killing him. As he walked through a trailer park he saw a few mobile homes with large rectangular stickers on the front doors. The trailers with stickers were dark, blackness inside compared to the surrounding ones glowing orange and yellow from their windows. Carefully checking for any witnesses, Sam approached one of the more remote mobile homes and read.

_This property has been determined to be vacant. The mortgage servicer intends to protect the property from deterioration. The property may have its locks replaced and/or winterized in the next few days. If this place is NOT VACANT please contact Safeguard Properties._

It seemed as if it had been there for a while, worn and faded corners. He studied around the neighborhood to make sure he was undetected. Dropping to his knees, Sam pulled a metal tool out of his duffel and began working at the lock. Clicking, the door opened. He snuck inside and closed it quickly behind him.

Waiting for his eyes to adjust in the dark, he saw he had walked into a small living room. Everything was still furnished. Cleaning supplies and expired boxes of food and empty beer cans littered around the room. A kitchen slightly to the left and to the far right there was a bedroom. A large, lumpy, queen bed. He walked over to it and collapsed, passing out, exhausted from the day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean’s throat burned and he couldn’t swallow. His eyes were prickling hot. He had fucking- Dean had done  _those_   _things_. To his  _brother_. Sam was drunk and Dean kept pushing more booze at him and then took advantage of him. And even if Sam said he wanted it one last time, even if  _that_  was true, Dean was the one that fucked him up in the first place. He’d wired his little brother to get off on him. First with jacking each other off and now this?   
  
Dean was shaking. He couldn’t stop his hand from trembling as he stumbled from his bed into the bathroom. Retching into the toilet, stomach burning with his throat, Dean cried silently for what he’d done to Sam. And not just for last night. But for  _all_  the nights. Every goddamn one where he thought this was okay. He was fucking sick.

Sam. His Sammy. Dean wanted to lick, and bite, and taste him all over. That wasn’t his intention last night, he really hadn’t meant to. But apparently that was what some sick, perverted subconscious part of his mind wanted. And Dean had tried to say no when Sam put his hand on him. He tried. But Dean had already ruined his brother long ago. He was supposed to protect him and save him and be everything he needed but not  _that_. The worst of it was,  _somehow_  Sammy thought it was okay.  
  
He didn’t stop Dean.

Dean didn’t blame him. He didn’t blame Sam at all for running. Christ, when he woke up and remembered what he did, Dean felt like dying. He saw the bed was empty and Sam’s duffel gone. And fine. Sam had taken off.

He knew that he should be worried but right now he was just relieved Sam wasn’t there. Dean would need to stay put for when Sam returned. And when that happened, what the hell was he going to say to him? He needed to figure something out. Obviously, Dean would tell him that he would be the one to leave. Sam still needed Dad. He needed to finish school. But Dean was twenty one. He could live away from his family and hunt on his own for a while. Sam would never have to see him again. Dean was resolved to make it up to him.

And as for Dad? Well, too damn bad. He’d accept it. He’d have to because Dean wasn’t going to be a constant reminder for his brother of all the perverse, disgusting, and abhorrent things Dean wished they could be doing.

 _Sam_  didn’t want that. And christ, what if he  _did_? That was almost worse. Dean had fucked up his little brother in ways that go beyond healing. And he couldn’t tell John the reason why he wanted to leave, though he should. He deserved all the wrath and punishment that anyone could throw at him.

Dean was a freak and it was good Sam was away from him.

But for now, he was just going to stay in the cabin and get drunk. Just keep drinking until he couldn’t think another thing.


	13. Chapter 13

He was used to waking up in unfamiliar places but when Sam finally blinked open his eyes he found himself even more disoriented than usual. The air was stagnant and heavy. Sitting up from the bed he looked around to find a blue nightstand next to the bed. The room he was in had a sectioned off doorway, wide open, that indicated it was different from the living room. The living room was nothing more than a few lumpy, hideous floral printed oversized chairs with puke colored wallpaper and TV trays scattered around. 

Stretching up from the bed, he walked into the living room to find an old TV to his left. It might even still work if he could rig up some rabbit ears and the power hadn’t been entirely shut down.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. He grimaced feeling in desperate need of a shower. Badly. He hadn’t had one since the morning before things with him and Dean- Which meant he was probably still covered with Dean’s- Sam clenched his jaw before walking towards the kitchen to find a small bathroom tucked away to the left. Everything was dingy and grimy but it would do until he could figure out the next goddamn step. He didn’t have a clue what the hell he was doing.  

Mentally crossing his fingers for luck, Sam turned the faucet. Short blurbing and sloshing noises ran through the pipes before brown water trickled out.

“Yes,” Sam breathed in victory.

He turned on the shower and allowed it to run until the water ran clear, cold but usable. He stepped in and looked down at the red marks still trailing his chest.

From Dean.

Sam braced himself against the wall in the shower and took deep breaths. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and the queasy feeling in his stomach while he finished washing up. The best he could in his current circumstance at any rate. Stepping out, shaking off drops, he changed into clean clothes. With his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back he began raiding the kitchen for food. In the hideous green fridge were moldy jars scatter on the shelves and that was all that remained inside. There were similar jars around the counter top and Sam spied a few unopened cans. If he lucked out and found something without mold there was also excessive evidence of vermin near by, nearly making him lose his appetite.

He found a few cans of soup that seemed to be intact and figured that would do, but he’d definitely need to make a run later. Sam still wasn’t sure what his plan was. He just needed some time to think and breathe. Time away from Dean. He knew he couldn’t stay away for long but for now this was it. He was on his own. It’s the only way his mind could deal with the situation he found himself in.

Sam looked over the trailer more attentively. On the wall were a several maps and locations, some postcards, all pinned to the wall. Oklahoma, Illinois, Route 66, Santa Fe, and several others scattered carefully decorating the wall. Sam was fairly confident he’d been to all of them. On the back of the dirty white front door was a road sign that read  _Work Crew Ahead._

As the day wore on he played around with the television and found that if he positioned it  _just_  right, and put tinfoil in  _just_  the right place, he could pick up a few fuzzy network channels. The trailer, clearly abandoned, seemed to still have power and water turned on. Sam guessed it was due to the bank that repo’d it trying to keep it in somewhat decent selling condition. He’d have to be careful since it was still being maintained, though it was obvious it had been a long time since anyone had been inside.

When the sun began to set, and the sky grew darker, Sam dared to leave the trailer. He walked over to the small grocery store and loaded up on junk food. On the way back, he made a pit stop to pick up some beer using his fake ID. Silently, he broke his way back into the trailer and cracked into the beer.

He laughed darkly to himself, beer was the damn problem in the first place.  _Booze._  The time in the car with Stephanie and again in the cabin with Dean. At least this time he was alone. He wasn’t going to screw anything else up. He kept telling himself he just needed to stop thinking a while.

For a few days Sam fell into a routine of waking up, eating pizza, getting drunk, and crashing around the trailer. He stayed in and willed himself to come up with a plan but it only continued to eluded him. He knew he should call Dean. He knew Dean would be pissed at him. But any time he thought about finding a payphone he froze. Sam could not begin to imagine what he would say to his brother. What they had done was beyond reprehensible. What they had done was illegal in several states. Legality being the least of the problem, however, it did not escape Sam that it was actually abhorrent enough to need a law.

And what the fuck would their dad say? Not that Sam ever planned on telling anyone. Jesus, he couldn’t imagine anything more revolting than the idea of John finding out what they had done. What they  _had_   _been_  doing. Because it didn’t just start with the fucking blow job. This thing between him and Dean had been building so slowly over the years. Sam could finally, truly, see it now. 

They were beyond fucked up and it was John’s fault for making them live those lives.

When Sam found himself perseverating about the incident he knew he needed to keep slamming back alcohol. Eventually his brain would just stop thinking.

Eventually Sam became tired of tending to his hangover. He cut back on the beer and decided to walk the neighborhood. He spent time milling around the nearby playgrounds just to get some fresh air. He even made a friend when a golden retriever that started following him back to the trailer. He felt better when Bones showed up. Taking care of a dog gave him something to focus on.

After a few days he started to feel much more relaxed, at least relaxed enough to actually start to deal with everything between him and Dean. Once he pushed past his unease and nausea he started to figure out just what the hell happened that night.

With the alcohol flowing and Dean finally acting normal again, Sam had just felt so comfortable and happy with his brother. When Sam leaned in and kissed him he honestly wasn’t thinking about anything other than,  _Dean. Warm. Nice._  He had just felt  _so_  relieved to have him back as his brother again. And his mind was so clouded by the alcohol. And Sam just liked Dean  _so_  close.

But when Dean kissed him, deepening it, something changed. Sam wanted it. He wanted Dean so  _fucking_  bad. It was an epiphany sucker punching him right in the damn face. A revelation that,  _Yes. Why_ haven’t _we done this? We should_ always _be doing this._

Sam’s heart pounded as he thought about it. God, the way Dean kissed him. He was so tender and soft but demanding and just so unlike the macho brother he knew.  _Brother._  Dean had blown him and Sam’s world had stopped.

He  _wasn’t_  going to be that freak. He didn’t care how fucking much he loved Dean’s tongue on him, he wasn’t going to give into this. Ever. All this was just bullshit from how they lived. They never saw anyone for him to make any meaningful relationships with. Who the fuck else was he going to feel comfortable enough to do those things with? This was  _John’s_  fault. Their Dad set them up for this. He fucked them up. And how was there any way to move past it?

Sam tried to swallow back tears but he was unsuccessful. He already knew without this fucking thing that he was a big enough freak as it was. He just wanted a  _normal_  life. And he was going to get it. He just needed to get away from his revenge hungry father.  

And then it finally occurred to him. He had one more year of high school.  _One._  And then he was out. As far as signs were concerned, this thing with him and Dean was a harbinger of  _get the fuck out of hunting_. Sam wasn’t sure what took him so long to commit to the idea but now he was sold.

He would go to college.

Once the idea occurred to him, Sam instantly felt relieved. He started making plans, spending all his time at the library researched everything he’d need to start his applications. He checked out what tests he’d need to take and planned out how much money he’d need for applications.

After he had been one his own for about ten days he decided to call Bobby and ask for a favor. Sam found a pay phone outside of the library and waited with baited breath, listening nervously to the ringing through the line.

“Singer Auto,” Bobby’s voice scratched.

Sam cleared his throat, “Hi, Bobby.”

“ _Sam?_  Is that you? Are you okay? Where  _are_  you?”

“Yeah, Bobby. I’m fine. I’m in Arizona.”

“Damn it, Sam, your brother’s worried sick about you! What the hell happened? He won't say a word.”

He inhaled nervously, “We- uh- we kind of got into an argument. I’m fine though, I promise. I know I have no right in asking but I was hoping you’d do me a favor?”

“Now, listen here, Sam,” Bobby chided firmly, “I am  _not_  getting involved in this. You call your brother right now, you hear me? He thinks you’re dead.”

“Bobby, no, it’s not  _that._  And, yeah, I promise I will call him. I  _promise_. But this is something else and I really need your help.”

Sam could practically hear Bobby shake his head through the phone, “Well? Spit it out, then.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately-"

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Don’t tell Dad. Or Dean but I think I want to go to college next year.”

Bobby was silent on the other end. Sam bit his lip nervously and wait for him to respond. He heard Bobby inhale, “Is that what this has been about? You go off soul searching and decide you want out of the family business?”

Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. He scratched, “Yeah, Bobby. I just, I can’t do this. I’m not Dad and I’m not Dean.”

“So what do you need me for?”

“I want to start applying but I need a permanent address for the applications. I was hoping I could use your’s.”

He heard Bobby scoff through the line, “Is that it, kid? That’s the big favor?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “And don’t tell Dad or Dean.”

Bobby was quiet for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, you call your brother, have him come pick you up. Once you’re back with him and stop him from havin’ a heart attack, yeah, Sam. You can use my address. You boys shouldn’t be living like this. You both deserve a chance away from this life.”

Sam laughed in relief, “Bobby, thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t thank me yet. You call and have your brother pick you up, Sam. I mean it. And don’t think I’m not gonna call him the instant you hang up. He’s worried sick.”

“Yeah, I will Bobby! I promise. I just have a few more things to take care of here and then I’ll have him pick me up. Tell him a day, two tops.”

“ _Sam,_ ” Bobby warned.

“Please, Bobby? I just need time to get applications. And they can’t know about this or they’ll try to stop me.”

Bobby inhaled through the phone, “Alright, Sam. Alright. You call me back when you’re with your brother again, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam smiled wide, “And thanks again, Bobby.” He hung up the phone and felt the best he had in two weeks. Or at least the best he had since the night with Dean, which he did his best to ignore the thought.

Sam returned to the trailer with a handful of applications and got to work filling out all the necessary paperwork. This had to be done. He wasn’t going to be the freak anymore. The crazy guy hunting werewolves and ghosts who had incestous thoughts about his brother.  _That_  kind of fucked up was beyond him. He  _was_  going to get out, and have a normal life, and find a nice girl and get married, and have kids, and  _never_  think about hunting the supernatural another goddamn day in his life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first few days Sam was gone, Dean hadn’t been too concerned. What happened between them was a huge fucking deal. The kid was entitled to a melt down. But as more days continued to pass Dean became more and more concerned.

Still afraid to call his dad and tell him he’d let Sam run, Dean turned to Bobby. He figured if anyone would have heard from Sam it would be him. About four days after Sam left Dean started to get very nervous about his absence. He figured he should start looking for him. Once he found him he wouldn’t contact him. Not until Sam was ready. But Dean just needed to know he was okay.

It took him a while to come up with a plan for tracking him. Then he remembered that Sam still had the credit card from when they were at Bobby’s. He had purchased their groceries when they had gotten to the cabin. When he called the company he learned that there had only been one transaction since Sam had left. It was for a cash advance at an ATM in Flagstaff.

The kid had been in Flagstaff. Okay. Fine. That wasn’t too far. He wasn’t sure where to go from there but Dean took off with his only lead, heading for Flagstaff. He canvassed the area where he knew Sam had been last. For a few days he spent his time driving around Flagstaff aimlessly just hoping to run into him.

For all he knew Sam wasn’t even there anymore. Maybe he caught a bus and headed to Vegas? Or Los Angeles? Or New fucking York. Dean didn’t have a damn clue, but driving the streets of Flagstaff was the only thing he could do to keep busy.

When a few more days passed with nothing Dean became physically ill. Sam should have contacted him by now. And Bobby had still heard nothing. Dean suddenly began thinking about the supposed vampire nest that his Dad was tracking and what if  _that’s_  what happened to him?

Jesus. Dean was so stupid. Sam could be in serious danger and here he was thinking it was some bullshit drama between them. People were fucking dying and Sam was missing. When it finally occurred to him, Dean instantly found good reception and called his father.

It wasn’t a surprise when he reached John’s voicemail.

He left a message telling him he did the best he could, admitting he fucked up. Sam was gone and on  _his_  watch. Dean returned to the cabin, defeated, exhausted, trying hard not to panic. He returned every night in case Sam came back. And he left notes every day when he left.

Each day Sam remained gone, Dean grew more desperate. His mind went to all the dark places of all the possibilities keeping Sam from returning to him. And Dean knew he deserved this kind of torture, but only if Sam was  _okay_. Sam just  _needed_  to be okay.

About a week and a half after Sam had left, Dean heard pounding steps waking him from the cabin early one morning. The door flung open and his father stood terrorizing the entryway of the small cabin.

“Is he here?” John demanded.

Dean shot out of the bed, “Dad!”

“Is Sam here?”

Rubbing his eyes, Dean tried to blink away the tears that threatened to fall. “Dad, he- Have you heard anything?”

“Jesus christ, Dean,” John pounded over to him and grabbed the shirt he was sleeping in by the collar and pushed him against the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you!” He bellowed.

“Dad!” Dean tried to swallow back the fear and self loathing rising in his throat.

“Tell me what the hell happened,” John demanded. He held tight onto Dean’s shoulder and turned him, throwing him to the bed.

Dean bounced, sitting and stammered, “Dad, it was just- We got into a fight and he took off!”

John shook his head, “When I get my hands on him-”

“No, Dad, it was me. It was my fault, okay? Don’t blame him. I started it. I pushed him and he ran.”

“And you didn’t think to stop him when he left?”

“He left before I woke up! His duffel was gone.”

“And when was that, exactly?”

Dean closed his eyes, shaking, and quietly admitted, “About a week ago.”

“Goddamn it, Dean!” John yelled. He leaned in close to Dean’s face, fuming, hand weighing heavy and threatening his shoulder.

Dean looked up at him with wide terrified eyes, “Dad, I am  _so_  sorry. I just thought-”

“You didn’t think to call me sooner? Jesus, Dean, you know what I’m hunting right now and you don’t think maybe I’d like to know if my son is missing? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dean shook his head, “I-I just thought he was blowing off steam, Dad! It was a fight and he just needed to cool off but then he didn’t come back.” His eyes were watering, “It’s all my fault. I did this. I made him leave. I fucked everything up and he left and if anything happens- if he’s not-”

John gave Dean a small slap across his face to pull him out of his breakdown, “You need to hold it together right now, Dean. What do you know? What are the  _facts_  here.”

Dean shook his head, inhaling deep trying to regain composure, “He just, he had one of the credit cards and last it was used was at an ATM in Flagstaff. I’ve been driving around there everyday since, hoping to see him. That’s all I know. Nothing was ripped apart here. When I woke up, the salt lines weren’t broken and his bag was gone. That’s it.”

John leaned away from Dean and stood, pulling himself to his full height. “ _You_  are going to stay here,” he commanded. Dean looked at him with wide and fearful eyes but nodded. “You are going to stay here, and you’re going to wait for him. And you are going to call every hunter we know to see if they’ve heard from him. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean exhaled.

“You are not to leave this cabin until  _I_  tell you,” John ordered, walking towards the door. Standing under the frame he looked to Dean and gritted intensely through his teeth, “You have had some major fuck ups in your day, Dean. But this?” He shook his head and walked out the door.

Dean brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed away at the tears falling freely down his face. Sam  _was_  okay. He  _needed_  to be okay. Dean couldn’t fucking live with himself if he wasn’t okay.

It wasn’t the first time he tried but Dean was on the phone the rest of the day, finding the one position in the cabin that picked up reception. Calling all the contacts he knew, waiting for any calls coming in, but he learned nothing. No one had heard a single fucking thing from his brother.

Dean couldn’t remember ever feeling that miserable in his entire life and he included the morning after when he realized what he’d done. His heart was clenched tight and his muscles were constantly tense. He couldn’t even bring himself to shower in case he received a call while in the bathroom.

John didn’t come back that night. Dean figured he was staying in Flagstaff tracking Sam. If anyone could find him it was John.

Dean woke the next morning with a pounding, drilling feeling, aching deep in his head and through his body. But he didn’t care. He deserved it and he deserved so much worse.

Halfway through the day he jumped quickly, answering the unfamiliar sound of a ringing phone, “Sam?! Sam, are you okay?”

“Dean?” A scruff deep voice asked.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Yes, Dean, and he’s  _fine._ ”

Dean froze. Blood pounded through his head. “You  _heard_  from him?” He asked again quietly, disbelieving.

“Dean, he’s fine. Listen to me okay? He’s okay. He was just-”

“When? When did you talk to him?” Trembling Dean interrupted. 

“Just now. Not one minute ago.”  
  
“Where is he, Bobby? Where is he?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Christ,” Dean exhaled shaking.

“Dean, calm down, okay? He’s going to call you. He promised me he would call, okay?”

Dean nodded into the phone, “Today? I need to hear his voice, Bobby.”

Bobby sighed, “I know, kid. But he’s okay, Dean. He really is. He said he needs a couple more days and then he’ll be back.”

Dean’s throat constricted tight and tears welled behind his eyes, “Thanks, Bobby.”

“I didn’t do anything, just passing along the message. Now, take care, alright Dean? He’s fine and you’ll see him soon.”

Thanking him again, Dean hung up the phone and collapse into the bed. He was shaking with relief, and guilt, and so much fucking pain in his chest. But Sammy was okay. That’s all he needed to know. Sam was okay.

Scrounging up all his courage, Dean called John and informed him of the conversation with Bobby. John, swearing at Dean and his irresponsible behavior, informed him he was going continue on his hunt with Dave being as Bobby was convinced Sam was just pulling teenage bullshit. Dean could tell John was still enraged at him but at least Sam was okay. That’s all that mattered.

A few days later Dean got the call. “Sam? Sammy?” His voice trembled answering.

The line was quiet for a moment before he heard him. “Yeah, Dean.”

Relief flooded through him, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” he sighed. “I need a ride.”

Sam sounded distant and cold and Dean couldn’t blame him a damn bit. Sam told him where he could pick him up and Dean was flying out of the door, racing to get to his brother as soon as possible.

He didn’t know what the hell he’d do when he saw him but Sam was safe and that was what mattered.


	14. Chapter 14

 

Sam felt like he drank a gallon of coffee. His heart was beating rapidly, his stomach flipping nervously, and he couldn’t quit bouncing his leg underneath the diner table. To say he was uneasy in the moments waiting for Dean was a vast understatement. Nauseated, he continued to wait for the Impala.

No longer could he avoid thinking about this moment. In the days leading to it, he had spent them filling out as much of the college applications as he could. It gave him a migraine but wasn’t nearly as unsettling as the thought of seeing Dean again.

And now that moment was close and he was doing all he could to not bolt from his seat.

He looked down at the menu in front of him and stared at the words. Logically, he  _knew_  they were words but he couldn’t focus his eyes enough to give the symbols a damn meaning. And then he finally heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pull up.

His heart stopped when he saw his brother open the door and step out. Sam’s stomach churned as he watched Dean walk confidently towards the entrance. He looked good. Well, no, he looked like shit. But even on his worst days it bothered Sam to know that Dean still looked good. Sam began worrying his lip as he saw Dean pull the door open and enter. Quickly, he shifted his gaze away from his brother and waited for him to approach the booth.

He heard Dean clear his throat and slide across from him. “You okay?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head but answered hoarsely, “Yeah, Dean. I’m fine.”

Neither of them said anything until the waitress came to their table to take their orders. Sam said the first thing that came to mind but he knew he wouldn’t be touching any of it.

Dean was finally here with him. In the two weeks that he’d been away he never allowed himself to think of what would happen. They each played distractedly with their silverware. Sam began to pick apart pieces of his napkin.

Dean inhaled nervously and said quietly, “Look, Sam-”

Interrupting, Sam’s voice trembled, “Can we not? Dean, can we just not have  _that_  conversation?”

Dean blushed and looked down at the table. Voice wavering he said, “I just need you to know, I can leave, okay? If you want me gone, I’m gone, Sam. I’m old enough, I should be on my own anyway. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I can bring you back to the cabin. We can wait until Dad gets back and then I’m gone. You don’t  _ever_  have to see me again.” His voice was so quiet and meek. It was disconcerting how small he sounded which did nothing to put Sam at ease.

Furrowing his brow Sam replied in a hushed voice, “What the hell are you talking about, Dean? You’re  _not_  abandoning me with Dad.”

“But Sam-”

“No, Dean! No. Just..  _no_.  _Stay_. I  _need_  you to stay,” he added quietly, desperately, then turned away.

Dean looked up concerned, “Sam, about what happened-”

“Dean! Stop!” Sam interrupted. He finally looked his brother in the eye where he could see truly the horrible state he was in. “Jesus, just stop talking. Just-  _Don’t._  You’re  _not_  going anywhere.  _I’m_  not going anywhere. We’re going to get on with our lives like it never happened!”

“Sam, you gotta to know, I am  _so_  sorry. I-”

“Shut the hell up, Dean!” Sam slapped his hand to the table shaking their glasses of water.

Dean cowered, looking away. They sat in silence until their waitress brought their orders. Both boys picked them apart quietly, avoiding each others eyes.

His skin was crawling and Sam didn’t know how to make the lump in his throat go away. How did he fuck things up with Dean  _this_  much? So fucking bad that Dean wanted to leave him. And he couldn’t do that. Sam needed him. Just for one more year. Sam knew it was selfish but he couldn’t let Dean go yet. It was the last thing he wanted

Without saying another word they left the diner. Like walking to the gallows, they trudged along silently until Sam opened the Impala door and sat heavy in the passenger’s seat. He tried everything to calm his shaking hands.

Dean put them on the road and they drove for quite a few miles before Sam finally spoke. “Dean,” he barely managed to scratch out. “Do you  _want_  to go?” He swallowed nervously, “I mean, if you can’t be around me-”

“No!” Dean interrupted. “No, Sam, that’s not- it’s not  _you,_  okay.” He shook his head, “Don’t even think that for a  _second_.”

Sam nodded and quietly begged, “I need you here, Dean.” Tearfully, he blinked as he watched the landscape pass out the window. “Can we just- Will you just stay?  _Please?_ ”

Dean shifted uncomfortably next to him, knuckles white on the wheel. He whispered, “Yeah, Sam.”

They drove in silence back to the cabin, each moment just as excruciating as the last. Sam fought the nauseous feeling rising in his stomach. He ignored the tense feeling of Dean on the seat so close. And he bit back at the warm tears stinging behind his eyes.

Their lives were beyond fucked up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Returning to the cabin Dean was in a consistent state of hyper awareness, always knowing exactly how close Sam was to him at all times. He was tense constantly. All he wanted to do was get shitfaced but now more than ever he was terrified to drink around Sam.

They walked around each other, a nervous dance, avoiding contact as much as possible. No lingering looks. No playful punches.

Dean slept in the car.

Sam didn’t stop him.

They both silently agreed that this was how it had to be.

John returned with stern words for Sam about running away but otherwise continued on as usual. He took them on a hunt. And another. And another. For which Dean was grateful as it provided ample opportunity to take his aggression out on salt-and-burns and poltergeists. It almost made it easy enough to forget how he actually felt about Sam and what he had done with his brother. What he  _still_  wanted to do.

But Dean would never be able to forget.

And now Sam kept to himself.

They were broken. They had gone too far to recover. Now all they could do was carry on playing out a weak imitation of what they once were to each other. But persevering was what Winchesters did best. Fighting and surviving. Living life day to day even though each day felt like a whole lifetime of dying slowly.

One more day. They could get through one more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> "Every day we spend here is like a whole lifetime of dying slowly." - FLCL FLCLimax 1.6  
> I used my favorite quote from FLCL. It is not mine but I love it dearly and think it nearly every day.
> 
> I know this ends pretty unresolved but that's what the second and third parts are for! I'm not much of a fan of cliff hangers but I needed a place to end the first part and this is where that happened to be.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Hopefully you've enjoyed it so far. I especially thank you if you've taken the time to comment or add kudos. 
> 
> Fun Fact! This actually started out as a joke. A friend and I were discussing how hilariously awkward it would be if Sam and Dean were Wincesting it up and one of them did a body swap with John. So, I started writing it as a complete crack fic and then this just all kind of happened. This is also only the second fic I've ever completed/posted in my entire life.


End file.
